#Some people thinks it ruins the illusion of what a story is - to me it *elevates* the experience to see the seams.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I came here for the silly haha doodles, but I've stayed for the absolutely blazing commentary in the tags. Your analysis of this story is so so so good! Thanks for all the work and thought you put into this!

I am just a silly little comics blog. I am not hiding anything in the tags, no way. Never.

[fandomhopped]

first love/late spring

pairing: fwb!logan howlett x fem!reader; 2nd person pov

summary: logan and reader have been sleeping together for a while with an unspoken rule to keep it casual, but that goes to hell when logan catches feelings. however, reader is an independent boss bitch and hates men<3

warnings: heavy swearing, hella mentions of sexual situations, substance abuse, brief sexual content(nothing serious fr), creepy guy in a bar, blood, bar fight, mentions of sex trafficking and resulting trauma, daddy issues, fluff, angst asf, lowkey scott slander (i dont mean it i love him)

word count: 9.1k

a/n: reader has light manipulation abilities but theyre not mentioned that often lol, also reader takes a lotta shots at jean just cuz she pisses me off. side note: idk the true meaning of the song i used as the title, there are many different interpretations. i found the song after i had alr written the story and the lyrics resonated pls don’t jump down my throat if it doesn’t align <3

there’s not a millimeter of space between you and logan as he holds you against his body. you’re sleeping soundly, and he watches you breathe all night, not bothering to even think about sleep for himself. the sun came up three hours ago, he felt it on his back.

when you drink, you always wake up early the next morning. you two drank a lot together last night. and like every time you drink with logan, you ended up in his bed.

he tries to block the sun from your face with his body so it won’t wake you up. he knows when you finally do, this little illusion that you're his will all be over. everything you said last night won’t matter. you’ll go back to your room. he’ll stay in bed. you’ll both go back to acting like it never happened.

you always leave him swiftly. you always go downstairs and drink coffee from the same mug and act like nothing happened. without a stutter, it’s a routine.

since he moved into the mansion, he wasn’t ignorant to the fact that the female teachers were attractive. and, of course, he was first drawn to jean. he won’t deny that he still harbored some feelings for her when you came to his room all those months ago, but she made it abundantly clear that she loves scott.

then one night, you slipped a bottle of whiskey into the mansion and invited him to join you in drinking it. you said some things that made him sit closer to you. that was just the beginning. he woke up the next morning to an empty bed but distinctly remembers you falling asleep next to him, so he assumed you woke up and left.

logan is a pro at acting like some things never happen, but he wasn’t expecting you to act the same. he dismissed it as a one-off, drunken night.

then it happened again… and again and again, and you continued to act like it never happened.

which, he was fine with. this wouldn’t be the first time he’s had a with-benefits situation, but there’s something different about you. you’re badass. you’re beautiful. he really respects you. you fit him perfectly.

and you’re mean. you don’t smile all that much, really only when you’re drinking is what logan soon found out. you’re not always outright mean to people, it’s usually deserved. you don’t take anybody’s shit. you’ll let people know when they’re in the wrong or they’re pissing you off. you’re sarcastic and rudely witty.

that was just another thing that attracted him to you. but, God, were you the meanest in the mornings, especially when you’re hungover.

unfortunately for logan, he has developed a small, tiny, itty bitty, barely-there crush on you. just catching a scent of your perfume has him rolling his eyes in the back of his head and white-knuckling whatever is directly in front of him.

the thoughts of you under him, on top of him, in front of him, on your knees for him plague his mind all. day. long. then last night, you had him rock solid from just a few drunken words.

“you’ve ruined all men for me,” you said as he kissed down your neck.

“hmm?” he hummed as his hands roamed your body under your shirt.

“nobody could ever fuck me like you do,” you told him, pulling at his hair roughly. he lets out a deep groan at the feeling.

he’s never picked up his pace of getting someone’s clothes off so quickly. he ripped your favorite pair of pj shorts in the process, mumbling that he’ll buy you a new pair.

with him deeply inside you, one hand wrapped around your throat and the other sending you over the edge with his mouth leaving marks all over your chest, you say breathily, “fuck, you’re perfect for me.”

the moment hasn’t left his mind since.

“i’m hot,” you mutter, pushing the sheets from your legs. “you’re hot.”

“oh, yeah?” he whispers in your ear, his lips turned up.

“i’m about to have a heat stroke,” you return, squirming around and shoving his arms from around you.

he lets go of you and gives you some space, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. a deep sigh leaves him.

“i’m gonna throw up,” you tell him, groaning and curling up into the fetal position.

“are you serious? don’t puke in my bed,” he says, leaning up to look at you.

you roll your eyes. “no, i’m not serious,” you snap at him.

“‘you wanna take a shower?” he asks, his lip curling up at the thought of you ruining his sheets (and not in the way he usually prefers).

“i feel like shit right now, logan. i don’t want to fuck you in the shower,” you tell him roughly, sitting up and glaring over at him.

he watches you stand up out of his bed and put yout shirt on. “‘s not what i meant,” he grumbles, looking away from her. he throws the sheets off his body and grabs his jeans from the night before.

he runs his hands down his face and then looks up only to see the door closing behind you as you leave him. again.

“whew, late night?” ororo asks you as soon as you walk into the kitchen, changed into some presentable clothes rather than the ripped shorts and oversized tshirt you walked back to your room in.

you ignore the woman as you open the cabinet to grab your mug. the same one you use every morning.

but it’s not there.

“where’s my mug?” you ask, glancing around the kitchen to see it’s not just ororo but also jean and scott there.

“is this yours?” scott asks, holding up the mug in his hand.

your gaze darkens. “yes,” she grits out, tightening her jaw.

“that’s my bad. i didn’t know this was yours,” he says, standing up and walking over to the sink. “i’ll wash it and you can use it.”

you feel your skin crawl as he turns on the hot water. “stop,” you say lowly, walking to him and turning off the water. “you can’t—.” you stop yourself as you breathe heavily. you rip the cup from his hands.

“hey, it’s just a mug,” ororo says to you, “what’s up?”

“it’s not—,” you cut yourself off again and take a deep breath, shaking your head. you turn on the cold water from the sink and carefully wash the mug.

“seriously, what’s going on with you?” jean asks as scott rejoins her side.

you roll your neck. “i’ve been here for years, and you don’t know which one is my mug?” you ask scott, not looking anywhere but your mug until you’re sure it’s clean.

“i never noticed before, ‘sorry,” he says then turns to jean with a shrug.

the light beaming in through the window shines a little brighter as you continue to shake your head, muttering things under your breath that the others can’t make out.

“it really is just a mug,” ororo says carefully, looking over your figure in concern.

“except it’s not,” you retort, attentively drying off the ceramic with a towel. you then pour some coffee into the mug and hold it close to your chest, turning back to the other mutants.

“what—,” jean begins but logan walks into the kitchen just as she starts and she stops herself.

her surveys everyone’s demeanor then looks at you. “what’s wrong with you?” he asks, walking to the cabinet and grabbing whichever cup is closest to his hand when he reaches in. he pours himself some coffee and turns back to them expectantly.

“scott was using my mug,” you tell him, leaning against the counter.

“why?” he asks scott, eyeing the man.

“to drink coffee. why does it matter?” he asks in return, scoffing.

“it’s hers,” logan returns, his stare hardens and he looks at scott like he’s an idiot.

ororo laughs humorlessly. “what does that mean? it’s just a mug,” she asks, looking between you.

you glare at her. “it was my father’s and now it’s mine.”

“the same father that sold you?” jean asks, her face contorting. you shift your weight uncomfortably. “why would you want that?”

“why don’t you just back the fuck off, bitch?” you snap at her, stepping toward her.

“woah, girl, calm down,” ororo intervenes, holding her hand toward you like you’re a wild animal. you scoff. “we get it. it’s special to you. that’s all you had to say.”

you roll your eyes at them. you leave the group and return to your room. logan watches you go then turns back to the others with his eyebrows raised. “did you say sold her?” he asks jean.

“when he found out she was a mutant—,” she begins.

“jean,” ororo interrupts her, shaking her head at the girl.

jean continues, “—her father sold her into a mutant sex trafficking ring,” she reveals, looking only at logan, “that’s where we found her and then brought her here.”

his face contorts, and he looks down into his coffee. “shit,” he comments.

“she doesn’t talk about it to anybody, and, out of respect, we don’t talk about it either,” ororo says pointedly at the telepath.

logan is seething all day over the new information. he hates to think you went through that for God knows how long.

after the incident, logan doesn’t see you for a while. he doesn’t know how. you’re a teacher and you live down the hall from him, yet he still doesn’t even catch a whiff of your perfume.

“logan, meet me in my office,” he hears charles’ voice in his head. he obeys and within a minute, he’s standing before the professor. “you should leave her alone for a bit.”

her brow furrows. “come again?”

charles says your name and logan clenches his jaw. “she’s destructive right now. you should let her be.”

“is she okay?” the wolverine asks, concern growing in his stomach, and it makes him feel sick.

“she’ll be just fine. this happens from time to time,” he tells him, pressing his lips into a thin line. “you know of her circumstances.”

“her circumstances?” logan growls, scowling down at the old man, “you knew what she went through and didn’t think to tell me? you know what’s going on between us and didn’t think maybe i needed to know that? what if she had a breakdown when we were together? i wouldn’t have known what was happening.”

charles’ lips turn down into a small frown. “that’s not my information to tell.”

logan storms off in a huff, muttering under his breath.

that friday, he’s smoking a cigar in his bed, looking out the window at the moon, which is shining rather bright tonight. he hears a few quiet knocks on his door. he opens the door, expecting it to be a student.

“hey,” you say, waving a bottle of jack in his face before pushing past him into the room. “'hope you don’t mind, i got started without you.”

“you always do,” he comments, closing the door, putting out the cigar, and following you to sit on his bed. “listen —.”

“i think i like that vodka more than this. this one makes my mouth taste weird,” you tell him, taking another sip out of the bottle before handing it to him.

he holds it and sighs. “look, we should—.”

“—take our clothes off?” you finish his sentence, smiling darkly at him. “i mean, it’s a little early, but i agree.”

“that’s not what i—.”

“—was going to say?” you guess his words, cutting him off again. “look at us finishing each other’s…” you trail off, looking at him expectantly. he sends you a deadpanned glance. “this is the part where you say ‘sentences.’ i think i’m better at this game than you are.”

he takes a long sip from the bottle before he looks at you. “can you be serious for a second?” he asks.

you scoff and take the bottle from his hands. “i don’t come to you like this to be serious, logan,” you say, putting the whiskey to your lips again.

“why do you come to me at all?” he asks quietly and gruffly.

you take another sip and place the bottle on the floor, scooting closer to him. “because you’re hot,” you say in a sultry voice, putting a hand on his thigh and slowly dragging it up, “and you call me ‘princess’ and ‘darling’,” you continue, reaching for his belt buckle. he doesn’t do anything to stop you, “and your hands.” you push the buckle out the way and unbutton his pants, dragging down the zipper slowly. “and your tongue.” you reach your hand into his pants. “and this.”

he breathes heavily, completely lost in the euphoria that is you.

he forces himself to snap out of him and shakes his head. he pushes your hand away and stands up, taking a few steps away.

“what’s wrong?” you ask him, grabbing the bottle and standing also. “do you need some more?” you ask, holding the drink out for him, confusion written all over your face.

he holds his hands out in front of him as if to deny the offer. “it’s…,” he trails off, pushing a deep breath through his nose.

your shoulders drop along your face. you tilt your head in disbelief. “oh, my fuck. they told you,” you conclude. you turn around and sit back down on the bed. he stays silent, just looking at you. “okay, so what now? you don’t want me anymore ‘cause i’m used up?” you ask, slurring your words a little.

“no,” he denies without hesitation.

your sober personality is back even though you’re still drinking the whiskey like you’ve been in the dry desert for weeks without water.

“then what is it, logan? you don’t wanna do this ‘cause my hair isn’t blood red?” you ask next, raising your brow and looking at him expectantly.

his face contorts. “what’re you talking about?” he asks gruffly.

you chuckle at him. “i’m not a fucking idiot, old man. i know you want jean so bad, but she doesn’t want you so i'm second choice” you say, then you shrug with one shoulder. “i’d’a gone with ororo, to be honest. have you seen her? i’d show her a good time,” you add.

“that’s not what this is,” he tells you, taking a step forward but not within arm's length of you.

“then what is it? just fucking tell me,” you say loudly, the room lights up as the moon shines brighter. “d’you want me to tell you ‘bout how i was a good, little daddy’s girl until i almost blinded my brother when i first got my powers? how about how my dad gave me away like he didn’t love me? d’you want me to cry in your arms about how i was passed around by mean men like a blunt when i was 14? why do you think i can only let you fuck me when i’m drunk?” you ask him sarcastically, but your voice breaks on your last words. you let out an unsteady breath. logan watches you cautiously, unsure of what to do. “is that what you want, logan?! you wanna be the big, strong man here?!” you ask him, crying now as you yell at the man in front of you.

your body slumps forward as you let the tears drop from your eyes, and you grip the bottle in your hands like a lifeline. you feel the bed dip beside you and the bottle pulled from your hands. you move your hands to your face, trying to pull yourself together.

you feel his big arms envelope you and pull you into his chest. that’s when the waterworks really break out.

logan’s never been to best with tears. he hasn’t had to deal with them too much, but his first instinct was to hold you as close as you would let him. he hates to see you like this. in all honesty, he wants to hunt down every man that ever put a finger on you and rip them to shreds. but, for now, he’ll hold you. as long as you would let him.

you wake up with araging headache. you’re hot, burning up, actually. you kick the blankets from your legs and turn over in the arms of the incredibly attractive man in bed next to you. you look at his sleeping face and sigh.

this is the part where you leave, but this time, you just snuggle into his chest and fall back asleep.

logan wakes up later than he usually does after nights like the last one. it’s normally the sound of the door closing wakes him up. but, this time, he sees your cute face smushed against his pec. he doesn’t fight the smile on his face.

you stir quickly after he wakes up. you rub your eyes and look around the room, then to logan. “i’m gonna puke,” you tell him, the remnants of the smile fall from his face. you pull away from him as your face blanches. “seriously,” you add and sit up quickly.

he reaches for the trash can beside his bed and holds it in front of you just in time. he holds your hair back with a look of absolute disgust while you clutch the bin close to your face and your body jerks with each gag.

once you're done, you wipe your mouth with the bottom of your shirt. you groan loudly and stand up from the bed. “i’m gonna take this with me,” you tell him, holding the can in your arms and moving toward the door.

“keep it,” he remarks, his lip curled up.

monday morning rolls around quicker than anybody wants. you walk into the kitchen and grab your mug, pouring coffee and looking around at others in the kitchen.

they’re talking amongst themselves, mentions of grading papers and some stupid answer a kid put as their answer on an assignment.

you just listen and sip your coffee peacefully. that is, until logan walks in. you move from in front of the coffee pot for him to get some. he nods in thanks as he joins your side.

“this coffee is awful,” you comment, pouring it out in the sink next to you. he chuckles at your comment but doesn’t say anything. “scott, did you make the coffee this morning?” you ask him. the three look over to you, almost as if they didn’t see you come in.

“yeah,” he answers.

“don’t do it again,” you tell him, filling the mug with water and leaving the kitchen.

as you watch a group of students take a test, you see logan walk back in his jacket he usually only wears when leaving campus.

“hey,” you call out. all the students look up at you. “keep taking your tests. i’m going to the hallway for a second,” you tell them and move into the hallway. “logan,” you call and he turns around, walking back toward you. “where are you going?”

“to pick up some more cigars,” he answers, gesturing over his shoulder.

“will you pick me up a pack of cigarettes?” you ask him, reaching into your pocket for some money.

his brow furrows. “you smoke?” he asks.

“sometimes, yeah,” you reply, handing him $20.

he shakes his head. “i’ll cover it,” he answers.

“thanks,” you reply, placing a hand on his forearm before returning to your classroom.

he looks down to his arm and blinks. that’s new.

“brad, i know you’re not talking during a test. are you begging for a failing grade?” he hears you say before he turns back toward the front door of the mansion.

logan returns a while later, after the school day is over and the students are training. he finds you in your classroom, grading papers.

“hey,” he greets. you look up at him.

“hey,” you return, eyes dancing all over his body.

“these are for you,” he says, holding out the page of cigarettes.

“right, thanks,” you say and reach for them, your fingers brushing his as you grab them.

“‘you need any help?” he asks, looking at the papers before you.

“do you know anything about math?” you ask him, pursing your lips.

“uh, no,” he answers, shaking his head. “don’t you have an answer key or something?”

“i have to check their work to make sure they didn’t just get the answer from the person beside them,” you reply, looking back down to the papers. “some of these kids are dumbasses.”

he chuckles. “no kid wants to do math,” he comments.

“how would you know? weren’t you born before there were schools?” you ask him without looking up. there’s a beat of silence before you eventually glance up at him. “was that insensitive?” you ask instead.

he just shrugs. “i’m not that old,” he says, sitting in the desk in front of yours.

“sure,” you respond and go back to grading.

the two of you sit in without a word as you grade, and he watches you in complete admiration. after a while, he stands up and walks toward the door.

“you’re leaving?” you question.

“‘didn’t think you wanted your room smelling like cigars,” he replies.

“i’ll join you,” you say, grabbing the pack he bought you and putting the tests in a drawer. he doesn’t object and you two walk outside, to a bench in the gardens, away from the students.

the two of you sit in silence as you inhale smoke and slowly release it from your lungs.

“i’ve never seen you smoke before,” he comments after a while.

“i only smoke when i give up drinking, i only drink when i give up smoking,” you answer, tossing the burnt cigarette onto the ground and stepping on it, then picking another one from the pack.

you pick up your lighter and flick it a few times but it won’t light. you put your head and lighter inside your shirt to block the wind, trying again and failing again.

“motherfucker,” you mutter as you try to cover the lighter.

“here,” he offers his lighter with the fire shining brightly above it. with the cigarette between your lips, lean toward the lighter, looking up into his eyes as you do. he meets your eyes and clears his throat, closing the flame into the top of the lighter and shifting his eyes to the cigar between his fingers. you let a small smile rest on your face afterward.

“so you’re not drinking anymore?” he asks you.

“figured i should go on a sobriety cleanse for a bit,” you reply, “‘t’s probably for the best.”

“probably,” he adds and silence takes over again.

he glances over at her for a second and he sees you bite at the skin of your bottom lip the way you always do when you’re thinking, contemplating. he’s tempted to ask what’s on your mind but before he can break the silence, you let out a hard sigh.

“i don’t apologize for things,” you begin and pause, biting at your lip again.

“okay…?”

“i don’t apologize for my actions or words because i stand by every decision i make,” you continue and pause again. he’s looking at you and you’re looking directly ahead of you. “i’m not good at apologizing,” you sigh again, “but i’m…sorry for some of the things i said the other night. there’s no excuse. i apologize. take that how you will.”

“you don’t have to apologize,” he replies.

you huff. “so i just said all that for nothing? you could at least accept the damn apology,” she snaps at him then rubs the crease between her eyebrows out.

“you called me an old man. i don’t know if i want to accept your apology,” he teases with a crooked smile. you send him a look that turns into a hint of a smile before turning your head away.

“i need to get back to grading those tests. i’ll see you later, logan.” you stomp out another cigarette and stand up from the bench.

“see ya, sweetheart,” he says lowly but you still hear it.

as you look over tests, ororo enters your classroom. “ooh, what’s got you all smiley?” she asks as she strolls in.

the previous smile you didn’t even realize you were wearing falls when you look up at the mutant. “huh?”

“don’t try to deny it. i saw that smile,” she says teasingly. you just roll your eyes lightheartedly. ororo’s brow furrows as she sniffs the air. “are you smoking again?”

“yeah, i quit drinking,” you answer, “what’s up?”

“i was coming in here to ask you if you wanted to go out with the rest of us friday night. we’re planning on going that bar we always go to,” she says, “but if you’re not drinking, i don’t wanna make you go.”

“yeah, no. that’s okay,” you decline the offer.

“alright, if you change your mind, you’re welcome to join us. sober or not,” she adds before leaving out.

the week drags on painfully slow. it’s a week of tests and starting new units in all your classes and you really just want to bang your head against a wall and tell the kids class is canceled.

by the end of it, you actually do want to join your colleagues in going out to that bar in town that they love so much. you offer to be the designated driver, not trusting anyone but yourself to drive you anywhere.

“are you going with us to the bar?” you ask logan as he rummages around the cabinets for something to eat.

“no,” he answers, opening the fridge, “are you?”

“yeah, i’m driving,” you tell him. there’s a beat of silence before you add, “you should come.”

he turns toward you at your words with a crooked smile. “oh yeah?” he questions, “why? ‘you want me there?”

you scoff with no heat behind it. “i was just trying to be nice,” you say.

“you? nice?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

“what? you don’t think i’m nice?” you ask him defensively, crossing your arms.

“no,” he replies, not skipping a beat.

“i’m very nice,” you counter.

“no, you’re not,” he denies again, also crossing his arms.

in his white beater, crossing his arms makes his arms flex and you can’t help but let your eyes wander to the veins of his biceps.

“you have nice hair. there, nice,” you compliment, then add right after, “you’re not balding or anything, which is quite common for men your age.”

“you’re not good at this,” he tells you, looking at your plate to see what you're eating.

“do you want some?” you ask him. you hold your plate across the counter for him to pick off of. he grabs one of your chips and eats it.

“thanks,” he mutters.

“look at me being nice,” you comment and he chuckles deeply.

“shut up,” he returns playfully.

the five of you go to the bar that night, logan joining at your request. he sits at the bar, ordering drink after drink and scanning the bar every so often to make sure you’re alright.

you spend most of your time at ororo’s side. before long, you’re accompanied by a couple of men. you and ororo share side-eyes as they continue to tell stupid jokes. ororo excuses the both of you to go to the bathroom only to move next to logan at the bar.

“having fun?” he asks sarcastically, looking at you then glancing to ororo.

“they could’ve at least been funny, but they weren’t. there terribly unfunny,” you tell him, sitting next to him on a barstool and ororo laughs.

“yeah, that was awful,” she comments and sips her drink. “oh, i see jean and scott. i’ll be back later.” she leaves the two of you. you order a club soda and turn to logan, who is hunched over his drink.

“you have really bad posture,” you tell him as the bartender hands you your drink. he just shrugs and refills his glass with the bottle the bartender left in front of him. you dig your finger into his spine and he straightens up, looking at you wildly.

“why?” is all he asks.

“it’ll help you look more presentable. you’re not looking for anybody tonight?” you ask and glance around the bar for women.

“no, i’m not,” he answers and slumps back down. you dig your finger into his back again and he looks down at you. “stop,” he says seriously.

“oh, what’re you gonna do? stab me?” she asks him challengingly. he looks back down to his drink and shakes his head dismissively. “oh, come on. you’re good-looking, you’re good in bed, you’ve got this hot, animalistic thing going on. why not look for somebody?”

“‘cause i don’t want anybody,” he answers. “did you say i’m good in bed?”

“well, yeah,” you confirm with a one-shouldered shrug.

he stares at you for a beat. this is the first time you’ve ever mentioned it before. you don’t talk about the things you two have done. ever.

“i would know,” you add after he stays quiet.

“you would know what?” ororo asks as she rejoins you, along with scott and jean. they all stand directly behind the man, looking at you expectantly. logan’s waiting for you to make up a lie.

“that logan’s good in bed,” you answer, gesturing to the man next to you. his eyebrows raise and he looks directly in front of him, a smirk playing on his lips as he drinks down all of what’s left in his glass and refills it again. you surprise him more and more every day.

“he’s what?” ororo questions, shock written all over her.

you roll your eyes. “you don’t have to do the clueless bit. jean reads minds and i know she’s told you two,” you state, pointing between ororo and scott.

“what? i haven’t—i didn’t—,” jean stutters over her words, laughing through them.

“liar,” you clock it in a high-pitched tone, sipping your drink. “i’ve heard you talk about it before. i’m just surprised you haven’t mentioned it yet.”

the three of them exchange glances. “okay, yeah, we knew. we thought you would deny it anyway so we didn’t bring it up,” ororo admits.

logan stays silent, drinking like he’s been thirsting for days. why are you doing this? “so…you two are…,” scott trails off. you shrug as your answer. “hmm.”

“hey, sweetheart, you never came back,” the guy from early comes up behind you and wraps an around your shoulders. you tense up at the feeling.

you remove his hand from you. “don’t touch me, and don’t call me sweetheart,” you tell him. he laughs and looks at your colleagues.

“why not? looks like everybody’s got a matchup here but you. let me help you fix that,” he says and runs the knuckles of his finger across your collarbone. he points at scott and jean, then logan and ororo. “i can make you feel good,” he whispers in your ear.

“seriously, don’t touch me,” you tell him firmly, pushing his hand off your shoulder and shifting your seat away from him.

logan doesn’t watch the encounter but he’s squeezing the glass in his hand so hard it’s about to shatter. he feels the red-hot rage crawl up his neck as he does every time he encounters some asshole in a bar.

“don’t be like that, sweetheart,” the man continues and reaches for the strap over your shoulder. chills cover your arms and legs and a shiver runs down your spine. you grab his hand roughly and shove it away from you.

“touch me again and i’m gonna break your fucking nose,” you tell him.

“ooh, i got a feisty one,” he comments to the rest of your group, laughing. “i like that.”

scott takes a step forward. “you need to lay off, man,” he tells him, trying to keep this civil and contained.

the man only laughs harder. “what are you gonna do, glasses?” he asks him and slings his arm over your shoulders. “come on, baby, let’s get out of here. i got a real nice spot for you in my bed.”

“she already told you not to touch her, bub,” logan chimes in, still looking straight ahead and not sparing the boy a glance. there’s a tightness in his shoulders as he uses all his self control to stay in his seat.

“woah, tell your bodyguards to stand down,” he says to you but your only response is to rear back and deck him directly in the nose.

he stumbles back, holding his nose as blood drips into his hand. “you dumb bitch—,” he lunges toward you but logan whips around and grabs him by the front of his shirt, shoving him up against a wall.

“what’d you say?” the mutant asks him lowly, a growl deep in his throat.

“hey, take it outside!” the bartender yells at the man.

“why don’t we do that? you wanna take it outside?” logan asks the scared man in his grasp, shoving him harder into the wall.

“logan, let’s go,” ororo tells him as she walks with you toward the door. he doesn’t move. “logan!”

he drops his hold on the man and turns his back to him. he doesn’t even take a step before the dumbass says, “yeah, listen to your bitch.”

logan turns back around and absolutely socks him in the jaw. the man falls to the ground. logan walks after his friends, rolling his shoulders.

when logan gets out to the car, he sees you in the driver's seat, holding your hand closely to his body. he sits in the passenger seat and looks at you.

“are you okay?” he asks you carefully.

“did you kill him?” you ask him flatly without meeting his gaze, and he shakes his head. “you should’ve,” you say coldly and start the engine, driving out of the parking lot and back to the mansion as quickly as possible.

when you arrive, logan accompanies you to the lab for jean to look at your hand. he wasn’t going to say anything but watching you cradle your hand makes him change his mind. “are you alright?” he asks you.

“fine,” you reply sharply, clenching your jaw tightly. he watches you bite at your lip.

“speak your mind,” he tells you, just outside the hidden elevator. you just shake your head at him. “if you don’t, you’ll take it out on jean.”

“why can’t i just do that?” you ask lowly.

“‘cause she doesn’t deserve it,” he reasons.

you take a deep, frustrated breath. “what happened tonight was stupid,” you say, “dumb fucking men thinking they can get whatever they want whenever they want. now my hand might be broken because i couldn’t—,” you cut yourself off and take another deep breath to steady yourself. “i’m done talking about this,” you say and open the door to the hidden elevator.

he blocks your path. “no, you’re not,” he says and waits for you to continue. that’s when the dam really breaks and you last out at him.

“it’s stupid. all of this is fucking stupid. i could’ve handled myself back there. i didn’t need you to step up and be my big, strong savior,” you tell him angrily, voice rising.

“i know,” he returns.

you’re shouting now, “then why couldn’t you just let me do it? i could’ve stopped him. i’m stronger now. i know how to fight now. i don’t need anybody to save me. i can save myself. i don’t need you. i don’t need any of you.” your voice cracks as the anger starts to shift into the feelings you hate to feel. “i’m not gonna let anyone take advantage of me ever again. and i’ll break every bone in my body before i let some drunk narcissistic man ever put his hands on me again,” you say your peace and breathe heavily and unsteadily.

there’s a long pause, the weight of your words hanging between you. logan doesn’t interrupt, giving you the floor to get it all out.

“i know,” he repeats himself deeply, “but you shouldn't have to.”

you feel that familiar ache in the back of your throat as tears threaten to spill out. you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, pushing all the emotions back down. “my hand really hurts,” you tell him quietly, not trusting your voice. he puts his hand gently on your back and leads you into the elevator then into the lab.

by the time you’re in front of jean, you’ve pulled yourself together and let her examine your hand. you did break your hand. she wraps it up for you and sends you to your room with some pain meds.

logan doesn’t leave your side until you’re at your bedroom door. “i don’t want you to come inside,” you tell him quietly. he stays silent. “it’s just that you’ve never seen my room before and this is mostly where i use my abilities and it’s messy right now and—.”

“‘t’s fine,” he interrupts your rambling. “i don’t have to come inside.”

“right,” you mumble, hand gripping the doorknob. “good night.”

“‘night.” he doesn’t make his way to his room until you slip into yours, locking the door behind you.

the next mid-morning, logan walks into the kitchen to see jean scolding you like a child. he’s surprised you’re just sitting there and taking it without a word.

“i’m serious,” jean says, finishing her tongue lashing.

“i know,” you mumble before jean offers logan a soft ‘good morning’ as she leaves.

“what was that about?” he asks you, moving over to the table where you sit with paper spread in front of you.

“i need to grade these papers but my hand is broken and dr grey told me it would only cause more damage,” you explain, sighing heavily and holding the pen in your healthy hand.

“let me help,” he says, snatching the pen from your fingers and the paper from in front of you. the numbers on the sheet are all greek to him. he doesn’t know what the hell he’s looking at.

“you can’t,” you tell him, pulling the paper from his hands. “you don’t know how to do it.”

“then tell me,” he offers, moving his chair next to yours. “tell me what’s wrong and i’ll write it down.”

you shake your head a few times before giving in. “fine,” you cave and look over the student’s work. you place the page in front of the man and point a certain part of a problem. “okay, so he should’ve foil’d here but he didn’t so the rest of the work is wrong. put a line through it and write ‘foil’,” you instruct him and he follows your orders.

“like that?” he asks, showing you. you nod in approval.

“your handwriting actually isn’t that bad. i was expecting a lot worse,” you comment, leaning into him as you look over the next problem. “that one’s right, so put a check,” you tell him and he follows.

the process continues on. every time there’s a gap of silence as you examine the math that he would never even try to understand, he watches you in complete admiration. there are practically hearts in his eyes while the gears turn in your brain.

as the next few days progress, you and logan spend more time together than you ever have. whether he’s in your classroom during your free period or you watch whatever movie’s on tv together on the couch, if someone’s looking for logan, you’re right beside him and vice versa.

of course, the others have taken notice of it. it’s new and after you confirmed you had been sleeping together, they draw their own conclusions about the two of you.

“‘y’know what i would like to see?” you prompt logan as you watch a show with a lumberjack in it.

“what’s that, darlin’?” he asks, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“you chop wood,” you tell him, looking up at him from your spot under his arm.

“chop wood?” he questions.

“yeah, like, axe, wood, outside, shirtless, sweaty, and muscly, chopping wood,” you tell him, “lumberjack style.”

“lumberj—.”

“with the cigar,” you add excitedly, cutting him off. “maybe add in a little dehydration too.”

“i think you’re drooling a little bit,” he tells you, pointing at your mouth as a lazy smile rests on his face.

“probably, that’s hot,” you tell him, looking back at the screen.

as the credits roll, logan looks down to see you sound asleep with your head resting on his chest. he carefully picks you up in his arms and carries you to your room.

he opens the door and pauses his movements, eyes dancing across your room. there are no personal touches on the walls or shelves. it looks exactly like his did when he first got to the mansion. well, except for one obvious difference.

your room looks completely dilapidated, like an abandoned home that the sun and time have destroyed. the dark color of the wooden floors and furniture has faded, every surface dry and brittle. in some parts, mostly near the window, the wood is completely bleached of its color.

he lays you in your bed and covers you up, taking in the room once more before he leaves.

“why don’t you have another name like everyone else?” he asks as you sit next to him on the bench where you now regularly take your smoke breaks on.

“like a last name? i do have one,” you answer, flicking the butt of your cigarette onto the pavement.

“scott has cyclops, marie’s got rogue,” he elaborates, glancing over at you. you’re sitting right beside him, his arm thrown over the back of the bench in a way that your head rests on it.

“i don’t know. i guess i never understood why i have to change my name just because i’m a mutant. i am who i am, human or mutant,” you answer, messing with a loose thread on your pants. “plus, seeing the way you made fun of the others when you first got here for their names—i’d never even try to think of one now,” you tell him, making him chuckle. you smile proudly at making him laugh. “you looked so cute when you first got here.”

“are you saying i’m not cute anymore?” he asks in mock offense, looking at you sideways.

“i mean, when i first saw you, you had that big jacket on and you were so clueless. a little less muscle too,” you recount, poking his toned stomach to which he curls to the side. your jaw drops. “are you ticklish?” you ask him, a smile growing on your face.

“no,” he replies sharply and gruffly, straightening his posture.

“oh, my fuck. you so are ticklish,” you accuse and dig your fingers into his ribs, attempting to tickle him.

a deep laugh leaves him, and he grabs your hand in his, his facial expression dropping quickly. “stop,” he tells you in warning. you just laugh in his face, reaching toward him with your other hand, cigarette still between your fingers. he grabs your other hand before you touch him, cigar between his fingers. “no,” he denies you.

you look toward the mansion and see the sun reflecting off a window. you bend the light so it’s shining directly in his eyes, almost burning them. he shuts his eyes tightly and brings one of his hands up to his face. as quickly as you can, you reach back into his side.

he quickly stands up and looks down at you. “enough,” he says and points a finger in your face.

you stand up also, but you’re shorter than him so he’s still looking down at you. you decide to stand on the bench, now a little taller than he is. you don’t say anything, just look down on him with a straight face.

logan can’t help the smile that breaks his scowl. “you’re an idiot,” he tells you, raising his eyebrows at you.

you mimic his gesture then flick the cigarette butt onto the ground. “you are cute, wolvie,” you say and ruffle his hair. “i get the whole towering over people know. this is a power trip for sure,” you comment.

“oh, really?” he questions and puts the cigar between his lips. he grabs you around your waist and throws you over his shoulder like you’re as light as a feather.

you let out a surprised squeal as he walks away from your bench with you in his hold. “put me down. bad boy, bad dog,” you chastise him hitting his lower back. he doesn’t listen so you just hang over his shoulder as he drags you into the mansion.

you grab his ass abruptly and he stops in his tracks. he places you on the floor and tilts his head as he looks into your eyes, taking the cigar from his mouth. “‘bad dog’?”

“yeah, wolverine,” you say, gesturing to him.

“a wolverine’s not a dog,” he tells you, smiling down at you.

your brow furrows. “yeah, it’s like a small wolf, right?” you wonder and feel like an idiot when he laughs at you.

“no,” he answers, shaking his head.

“liar,” you accuse.

he tells you, “go to the zoo. there’s some there.”

you look up at him in disbelief. “you’re fucking with me,” she states and he shakes his head in complete amusement. “if you’re lying to me, i’ll—.”

“what? try to blind me again?” he asks, cutting you off.

“maybe i will,” you challenge, crossing your arms.

he pauses for a moment, considering. “maybe i want you to,” he says and his tone drops, like, two octaves when he says it.

you’re suddenly aware of how close the two of you are, how his hands gripped your waist just a moment before, how effortlessly he carried you. the playful atmosphere shifts and you feel heat creep up your neck and across your cheeks. you don’t blush, especially not around him.

“logan,” is all you say softly. he notices the change in tone. he notices everything about you, every detail, every flaw, every perfection.

for a moment, neither of you speak. the air between you is charged. your eyes travel all over his face. he really is such an attractive guy. and when you peel back the tough guy layer, he’s a sweetheart.

“thanks for the ride,” you say lightly, trying to break the tension.

he nods, gaze still locked on you. “anytime,” he remarks, his voice rougher than it was a moment before.

you both stand there for a few more seconds, not really sure where to go from here. his eyes shift from yours to your lip as you chew on it. his jaw tightens and he looks away from you, taking a step back to give you some space.

your heart pounds against your chest unfamiliarly. everything about this feels so new to you.

“see you around, pup,” you say, your voice back to its teasing tone.

“yeah,” he adds, watching as you turn away and walk back toward the mansion.

more days pass and you spend more time with logan. he notices that you make fun of him more, teasing him for small stuff.

it’s only when he’s in the laundry room that ororo catches him alone. “hey, logan,” she greets. he mumbles something of the same. “so…you look pretty cozy with a certain mutant.”

“huh?”

“you know what i’m talking about,” she says, leaning against a washing machine.

“it’s nothing,” he tells her, starting the machine he threw his clothes into haphazardly.

“‘doesn’t look like nothing,” she returns.

“leave it alone,” he grumbles, turning to leave the room.

ororo steps in front of him, placing a hand on his chest. “please, don’t hurt her, logan,” she requests.

“she doesn’t want me the way you think,” he tells her.

“you can’t seriously believe that,” she says, looking back and forth between his eyes.

at that very moment, you turn the corner and your eyes widen. you ignore the sting in your chest as you let out a loud “woah.” ororo quickly turns around and takes a step away from logan. “i didn’t mean to interrupt,” you tell them with your hands up in surrender, but that was exactly your intention when you spoke up.

“you weren’t interrupting anything,” logan tells you, watching you move past him to grab a laundry basket.

“i’m not judging,” you reply, walking back to the door. you turn back last second and look at ororo. “hey, if he asks you to wear a red wig, say no,” you tell her with a wink before leaving.

“i never—,” logan cuts himself off, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. “i never did that,” he says to her.

“God, i hope not. what the hell,” she remarks, shoving his arm. “she was jealous. you need to go tell her nothing happened.” he sighs deeply and takes a step forward. “‘you really still think she doesn’t want you?”

he doesn’t reply and follows after you. you’re walking as quickly as you can up the stairs when he catches up to you. “hey,” he calls after you.

“don’t worry, buddy. secret’s safe with me,” you tell him, picking up your pace as you reach the top of the stairs but he keeps in step with you.

“there’s not a secret. we were just talking,” he says.

you place a hand on your bedroom doorknob. “really, you don’t have to defend yourself to me,” you say and open your door, slipping inside. before you can shut it, logan stops the door with his hand. you look at him through the crack in the door, pushing your lips into a thin line. “uhm…”

“there’s nothing going on between me and storm,” he tells you.

“i’m not gonna tell anybody,” you return, frustration rising in your tone. you push against the door but your strength is in no way comparable to his.

“i’m serious,” he tries again, almost pleading. “i don’t want her, i want—.”

“jean? look at that, finishing each other’s sentences again,” you cut him off with a false laugh.

“come on, darlin‘,” he says, tilting his head to the side.

you groan. “i just thought—,” you stop yourself, sighing. “it doesn’t matter what i thought.”

“it does matter,” he tells you, pushing the door a little wider. you move into the space between the doorway and the door, trying to block his view into the room. “tell me,” he encourages, getting closer to you.

“i thought you weren’t a whore,” you retort, giving him a hardened look.

“that’s not what you were gonna say,” he states lowly, looking deeply into your eyes. “what was it?” you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, biting into the skin. he reaches his hand to your jaw, his thumb pulling the lip from between your teeth. “don’t do that. you know it drives me crazy.”

“i thought maybe you wanted me for more than sex,” you admit, feeling embarrassed as the words slip out. you clench your jaw, preparing for the rejection. a smirk slide onto his face and you drop your head. “okay, bye.”

you move back and push against the door again, but this time he pushes the door all the way open. your eyes widen as he takes a long stride toward you and pulls you back to him by the back of your neck. he presses his lips against yours feverishly to which you obviously reciprocate.

he pulls away and rests his forehead against yourself, breathing heavily. “i want you in every way possible, sweetheart,” he says.

you swallow thickly, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him away. “you don’t want me,” you tell him. he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you back into him, your chest pushing against his.

“i do,” he counters.

“you don’t,” you respond.

there’s a beat of silence. “i do,” he says again. you just look up into his eyes. “i want you. i’m not the best person for you, i know that. i’m older and unhappy and i probably can’t be there for you emotionally,” he lists then shakes his head at you, looking at you like you make the world go round. “but i want you, i want every part of you—the good, the bad, the hot and sexy, and the rude and snappy. everything.”

you’re quiet. you don’t know what to say, what is there to even say? in your head, he’s always wanted jean and you were just a place filler. you’ve been under the impression that you caught feelings and he didn’t reciprocate them at all. maybe you’re wrong just this once.

“i want you too,” you tell him in a whisper. he watches your brow furrow as you look away from his eyes. his face falls. “but—.”

“no ‘but.’ don’t say ‘but’,” he begs, loosening his grip on your waist.

“logan, i can live with you not being there for me emotionally, but i don’t know if you can live with me not being for you sexually,” you tell him. dread takes over your body. this beautiful, morally grey, perfect-for-you man is in the palm of your hand and you’re letting him slip through your fingers.

her visible confusion deepens. “you’ve been perfect for the past few months,” he tells you, misinterpreting your words as insecurity.

you shake your head. “i meant it when i said i can’t fuck you sober,” you tell him slowly, avoiding his gaze completely. you feel his hands move from his loosened grip to a hover over your hips. you can’t read his mind like you usually can. logan wears his thoughts on his face, perfectly readable when he’s mad or happy or just his normal grumpy. but now, it’s like trying to read a book in a language you didn’t know existed. “i’m sorry,” you add when his silence becomes too much.

“i don’t care,” he tells you as soon as you finish the last syllable.

“you know i don’t apologize for shit and you don’t care that i’m sorry?” you ask him. you go to push him off again but he pulls you back in, this time wrapping his around your neck, smothering your face in his burly chest.

“i don’t care about sex,” he tells you as he rests his head atop yours. you return the embrace and hold him around his ribs. “i don’t care if you never touch me again. i love you.” your eyes widen and he feels your body tense up. he chuckles, pulling away and smiling at you. “too soon?”

“a little,” you tell him, nodding. you then smile back at him.

———

a/n: i haven’t written in a long time . pls don’t rip me up if u hate this���

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Defied (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which Celebrimbor manages, with his dying words, to unearth some truths which you and your husband are desperate to deny

Warnings: evil!reader, that Celebrimbor scene in 2x08, so torture and death (the description isn’t too graphic and reader doesn’t torture him directly but she plays good cop to Sauron’s bad cop) angst + comfort, biting, some manhandling, mention of reader killing people

Note: one more fic in the evil!reader collection. Works on its own too but reader’s backstory is more detailed than here in Old Wounds. I think I broke myself writing this.

Celebrimbor awakens to a damp cloth gently brushing the blood and sweat off his feverish brow. A touch kinder than he had imagined he would ever feel again. He groans weakly, awash with relief as he opens his eyes.

Any trace of comfort vanishes when he sees it is the wife of Sauron who is administering the merciful treatment.

“Shh,” you murmur as he tries to lift his head. The soft pillow on which it’s resting are your thighs, your legs folded beneath you as you sit sideways on the floor. It takes only the lightest push for you to hold him down by the shoulder, but it still sends pain shooting through his tormented body.

“We do not have long,” you whisper, throwing a slightly nervous glance towards the door. “He will return soon.”

Frowning and too weak to do anything but lie there, Celebrimbor searches the room with his eyes, finding that the two of you are, indeed, alone. He also finds that you have removed the arrows from his body while he had been unconscious, his wounds still painful but at least more bearable than before. To his surprise, they don’t seem to be bleeding as profusely as one would expect.

“I’ve done what I could,” you say regretfully, gently pressing the cloth to his temple. “I can do more.”

Your voice leads him to raise his gaze to yours. There’s a shaft of light pouring through the window at just the right angle so that it bathes your face in an ethereal glow. Looking at him from above, all beauty and light in the midst of his forge’s ruins, you seem like a gift from the Valar themselves. You could be his salvation, his way back to freedom, if only he would—

“If only I would give you the Nine.”

His voice is so weak and hoarse, he barely hears it himself. Your brow furrows, as sympathetic as the small smile you grace him with.

“There is no other way,” you whisper.

Despite it all, the weakest of chuckles escapes his parched throat.

“After he is done inflicting his torment,” he says, somehow finding enough strength within himself to pour into his voice, “you come to me with a kind word and soothing touch. Seeking to melt my will, rather than break it.” He shakes his head once, meeting your gaze unwaveringly, even from below. “I see through the illusions now. His... and yours.”

You breathe in. Slowly, deeply. As you exhale, the divine light dims and vanishes, leaving your expression as it truly is—cold and utterly frustrated as you give a sharp sigh.

“And how is that to your benefit?” you deadpan. You cast the bloodied cloth aside and remove your legs from under him. He groans in pain as you maneuver him so that he’s sitting up against a column, standing to your full height beside him. There’s nothing soothing whatsoever about the sight of you looking down at him now.

“Seriously, Celebrimbor,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re only delaying the inevitable. You’ve already sacrificed those poor guards of yours to do it. I mean,” you shake your head, chuckling with pity, “trying to have my husband arrested, like some common Elf? What did you imagine that would accomplish?”

“Does it not pain you,” he ignores your taunts, voice trembling as it grows in despair, “to see me tormented as the one you claim to love once was, at the hands of Morgoth? You said you were there. You said Morgoth had you mend him with your gifts, only so he could begin his tortures anew. Did you not weep as you told that story? Does it not pain you, then,” he cries out, “that your beloved husband would force you to relive that past by having you do the very same to another?!”

“It’s not him that is forcing me!” you scream out in return.

He had said that word—husband—which you use so often, and with such delight, as if it were the greatest poison known to Middle-Earth. That cracked something within you, tears of anger burning in your eyes as you begin to pace like an animal in a cage.

“Do you think this is what I would have chosen? Do you think this is what I’ve always wanted?”

Before you know what you are doing, you grab a piece of rubble and flung it against the pillar, above Celebrimbor. He gasps and flinches as pieces of shattered stone rain down dangerously close to him, though he’s lucky enough to only become covered in dust.

“There was a time,” you say, practically trembling with anger as you rush to Celebrimbor’s side, “after Morgoth was defeated, when he and I were perfectly content to simply... exist! That was enough. More than enough. We were finally free from Morgoth, finally free to be together.” You shake your head and close your eyes, breathing to regain your composure. After that, you are no longer shaking, and your voice is grim. “But we both had been free before. And we knew how easily that can be taken away. The only being who truly has freedom... is that who controls all else. And so that had to be us.”

“Perfectly sound logic.”

His words drip sarcasm. Your jaw clenches.

“Mock me all you want,” you say, crouching to his level and forcing him to look straight your merciless gaze with a firm knuckle beneath his chin. “Which one of us has their freedom now?”

Celebrimbor meets your ire with a sympathetic smile.

“Neither, my false friend,” he murmurs. “Neither.”

A mirthless chuckle escapes you. You have truly underestimated his willpower. But he has done the same with your ruthlessness.

“We’ll see,” you hiss. “Love,” you call out, the word fierce but ragged on your tongue as you release Celebrimbor’s face and stand up. He hasn’t noticed your husband walk into the room, or come to stand no longer than an arm’s length away from you. Most likely he had been lingering in the shadows, waiting for a sign from you to reveal himself. Even as you turn to him, you’re still glaring daggers meant for Celebrimbor.

“I think he likes you better,” you say.

Sauron looks at you, impassive. “Perhaps you’ve lost your touch.”

What might have otherwise been simply another tease cuts into your chest. He is a particular kind of distant now, has been since you have lost the Nine. The setback angered you as well, but your husband seems wholly consumed with the need to have them in his grasp again. Perhaps because he had poured part of himself into the making of those Rings. Not like that is any consolation. There’s a strain between you now, and nothing playful about it—only a sense of dread sinking its claws into your heart.

At an uncharacteristic loss for a snide reply, you clench your mouth shut and step aside to let him do the work.

But Celebrimbor does not relent. No matter how many arrows your husband plants in him, how much pain he endures, his lips remain sealed and the location of the Nine firmly withheld. Your husband speaks of the Orcs ravaging his city, and Celebrimbor speaks of the birds that used to fly to the river who are now silenced. Your husband pleads with him to let him share the wonders of the Rings with the world, and Celebrimbor speaks of the peace he is soon to find in death.

“There are ways to keep you alive,” is Sauron’s grim reply. “My wife’s skill being the most efficient of them.”

“Is it?” you question quietly. “I thought I’d... ‘lost my touch’.”

You don’t bother to look at him as you speak the bitter words. For a while now, you’ve been leaning against the wall near the window, staring out at the darkened horizon. You don’t need to see your husband to picture the piercing gaze he turns towards you, or the tick in his jaw as he grouses, “Now is not the time—”

“It’s never the time.” Your head whips to look at him, and you flinch when you find him closer already than you had expected, staring you down. But you’re long past being intimidated by such gestures. You only meet your husband’s gaze defiantly. “I no longer wish to do this.”

There is the smallest furrow of his brow, equal parts surprised and disturbed. You hardly ever refuse each other. Especially in moments as critical as this. Glancing at Celebrimbor, you see his bloody brow is knitted in confusion, as if he hadn’t truly expected you to give heed to his words. And it is not for him that you are doing this—but your husband follows your line of sight, and his gaze has gone from displeased to wrathful as it returns to yours.

“I’ve never known you to shy away from a little blood,” he says, voice low and menacing as he steps closer, crowding you into the wall. “Or perhaps it is not the torment, but the Elf on whom it is being inflicted that stays your hand?” He takes hold of your wrist as he speaks, lifting it between your chests as he closes his fingers over yours with misleading delicacy. “Is that it, my love? Has our dear Celebrimbor grown on you at last?”

“Don’t be absurd,” you huff out, making to walk past him—but he slams your hand into the wall and presses the full length of his body against yours, trapping you as you gasp and glare. Your free hand pushes against his chest to no avail, while his cups your cheek to make you look him in the eye.

“Is this why you tell him of our past so freely?” he growls, his breath hot and heavy on your lips. “Why you justify yourself, hoping to find forgiveness, perhaps? Compassion?” He trembles with rage as he presses his thumb to your bottom lip. “...desire?”

Rage blinds you, raw and animalistic—and like an animal, you bite onto his finger, shoving him in the chest at the same time. He stumbles back, glaring down at his hand. Your teeth have drawn black blood, and you furiously wipe it off your lips with the back of your hand.

“How dare you?” You charge for him and hit his chest again, putting enough of your powers behind it that he almost doesn’t catch himself and tumbles to the ground. “How dare you accuse me of such treachery?” you scream. Tears of rage gather in your eyes, while his are a mix of disbelief and anger. “After all I have done for you. All the ways I have proven my devotion, the oaths we swore, the centuries we have lived for nothing but each other—”

“You speak as though I were a stranger to your jealous anger,” he retorts. “As if you did not pierce me with your rageful glare each time as I so much as looked Mirdania’s way—”

“I did not mean it as you do!” you cry out. “It was a game, it’s what we do! You know that.”

For a moment, only your heavy breathing fills the room. Yours and your husband’s as you stare each other down, neither willing to yield. But there is also the faint sound of Celebrimbor’s, who lies nearly forgotten in the rubble. It reminds you what it was that had been gnawing at you in the first place. You shut your eyes briefly, willing your voice to be calm and composed as you speak.

“I’ve done my fair share of dark deeds, most in the name of our love,” you say, this time heading towards your husband in a peaceful manner. “I shall do more, if needed. Worse. But this—what is happening here...” You nod your head, infuriatingly helpless as you admit, “He’s right. It means something to me. To us. This is exactly what Morgoth put us through. You are asking me to do what he made me to do you.” Your voice begins to tremble with long-suppressed grief. “And you, in your greed for those Rings, could not care less what it does to me to think of that time, let alone reenact it.”

Your husband stares as though you’ve said something incomprehensible.

“All depends upon the Rings,” he all but whispers, willing you to understand. This time when he takes one of your hands in his, the gesture is somehow both tender and desperate, as if you’ll slip away. “All of this... is for us,” he vows.

That sliver of doubt in your chest is enough to break you.

“Is it?” you breathe out shakily, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Because it is your blood you have poured into the Nine. Not ours.”

You pull away from him—to his devastation, written plainly on his face. Your hand shakes as you wipe away your tears. A deep, aching desire burns in you to be away from this place, to start anew. You feel it is the only way to fix what has been broken, even if you can’t even tell where the divide between you lies or where it has begun.

“We shall soon have an army,” you try to reason. “Power beyond imagining, even without the Nine. No doubt, with time the Rings will find their way to you—”

“And you would have me wait for them even one moment more?” he says in disbelief. You give him a sorrowful smile.

“I have awaited your return for an eternity,” you say. “Perhaps it is your turn to wait for my sake.”

His voice is so faint you barely hear as he asks, “Or what?”

A terrible pause follows. There’s a threat in your eyes, which you don’t dare to speak out loud. You are not even sure you would be capable of doing such a thing—if, even just as another game between you, as an attempt to rile him up, even just for a brief time, you might truly find the strength or the will to turn and walk away—

It’s as if he senses the shape of those words in your mind, and they clip his breath. In an instant, he takes your face in his hands, his hold on you desperate and his eyes feral.

“If you betray me... if you forsake me...” he breathes out the word like it’s poison, planting daggers in his throat as he speaks it, “I shall forget all thoughts of healing, and raze Middle-Earth to the ground so that I am all that is left in the world for you to return to.”

“Even the Rings?” you ask, gripping his wrists to keep him close, every inch of you weak at the tortured yearning in his declaration. “Would you vanquish them as well, if it meant I would return to you?”

For a moment, his eyes widen as though you have stabbed him. Then they darken with determination.

“I shall have you... and the Rings,” he swears. “Nothing less.” His lips meet yours roughly, briefly, like he wants to prove they are still his to kiss. “Nothing...” He does it again. “...less.”

And this time, you believe him. You are desperate to, and mad with longing, ready to lose yourself to your husband’s touch and let it purge this new fear that has crept inside your heart, whispering insidiously that peril for the love you share lies on the path ahead of you. But your embrace is cut short by Celebrimbor’s voice.

“Shadow of Morgoth!” he calls out. You and your husband break away and turn to him, and the sheer defiance in his gaze chills you to the bone. “You shall have neither,” he says fiercely. “The Rings of Power shall destroy you. This twisted... mockery of love shall be snuffed out like a candle in the wind. And in the end,” his voice grows to a guttural cry, “I foresee it is the very fruit of it that shall be your utter ruin!”

You gasp in horror. It’s as though the dread within you has spoken from his mouth. Your husband is equally affected, though he is moved to rage rather than fear. In an instant, he has picked up a spear, reached Celebrimbor and impaled him in the stomach, lifting him up against the pillar.

“You’re wrong!” he growls up at the Elf moaning in pain. “We shall rule together,” he declares, almost in a craze, “and be masters of our own creations.”

Even now, even like this, Celebrimbor smiles defiantly. “No,” he says. “You shall be slaves to them. And to each other. Sauron... the Abhorred... and his Accursed Bride. Lord and Lady of the Rings.”

And so, Celebrimbor gives his last breath.

You’ve seen beings die before. You’ve been responsible for it. You can’t remember the last time it’s left you as hollow as it does now, Celebrimbor’s final words still lingering in the air around you.

“It’s only words,” you murmur in the silence, to convince the both of you. “They mean nothing.”

Your husband drives the end of the spear into the ground, leaving the body propped up against the pillar.

“I wanted to do worse,” he says blankly, staring at the ground. “But you wished for this to be over. So I did as you asked.” He lifts his gaze to yours. “How could his words be true... when there is nothing I would not do to keep you?”

His words steal your breath—but what truly claws at your heart, leaving it raw and trembling within your chest, is the fact that a lone tear has swelled in his eye, and slipped down his cheek.

“You are weeping,” you whisper, awe-stricken. “I have not seen your tears since...”

Your throat closes around the words.

“Do you doubt me, my love?” he murmurs. “Do you doubt us?”

His voice, weak and pained, undoes you.

“No,” you breathe out. “No, no, no!”

You all but run to him and throw your arms around his neck, whimpering as he wraps you in a desperate embrace. He releases a ragged breath, his heartbeat rampant against your chest, and he presses a kiss to your shoulder that makes you shiver. “We will have all that we have been striving for,” you promise against his neck, then pull back to look into his eyes. “Soon. Together.”

“My love,” is all he whispers in return. You cup his face with the most gentle touch, fingers brushing his fair hair before you press your lips to his cheek, cherishing each drop of his tears that you are kissing away.

“My love,” you repeat as if in prayer. You rest your hand on the back of his head, fingers gently nudging at the bow made of his hair as you simply stand there, holding him with his cheek to yours.

Celebrimbor was wrong. You were wrong to fear. No feeling so soul-consuming in its might could ever be shattered. Not by powers of flesh, not by those over flesh. You are sure of it now.

It’s like this that the Orcs find you as they barge into the forge room with bloody weapons in their hands. One gestures for the others to halt while you and your husband face them, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Are you him?” he asks, some semblance of hope in his gruff voice. “Are you Sauron?”

“I have many names,” your husband says, as always. “But her...” he wraps his arm around your waist as you hold your chin high, “you shall call ‘my Queen’.”

Previous fic with same reader -> Kill and make up

Next fic with same reader -> The Two

[mywitchyblog]

I love the dedication for explaining the most basic stuff for some of these shifters because some of them lacks common knowledge everyone is so attach with the past they always talks about you can't do this because this and that it happened to me happened to them acting like our cr is the only one who has a past in every reality there's a different race who experienced discrimination like all the stuffs that people reason on why people shouldn't race change but they forgot that in every reality every race, age, gender has a different past some realities gender is equal no one fights about whose gender are more important. In another reality it's the opposite of race who experienced discrimination. People like to create discourse because they are so attach with the cr all they talk about is cr. these people won't shift with this mindset it's very limiting they always let the past affects their journey they are the same people who affirm about not being in the past and that they don't live in the old story but still continue to get mad when someone want to change their form in order to experience infinite possiblities. What shifters need to learn is that if they always talk about being in the 4d and that they live in the imagination they should start observing 3d and view their cr life as someone's old story a character who will end their roles to start a new and better one never let the past affects you. Focus on your own journey your own story NEVER LET PEOPLE'S OPINION ON TUMBLR AFFECTS YOU block them and move on don't interact live your life you wanted it to be stop being miserable stop complaining stop starting a discourse but instead educate yourself read a book find a hobby that helps with your shifting journey stop complaining about peopel having different opinion as you those are just people on the screen on your phone don't let their energy touches you and ruin your day. YOU WON'T GET ANYTHING FROM ARGUING PEOPLE WITH DIFFERENT VIEWS OF YOU FROM TUMBLR. ALWAYS LIVE IN THE PRESENT DONT FORGET ABOUT THE PAST ONLY OBSERVE IT. If you're aware that you are a consciousness nothing can hurt you only your cr self gets hurt but you are a consciousness you're just observing your cr self just like your dr self your cr self get hurt because it has a senses, feelings and emotions it has a story a past but you already live now in your dr. In death only the body dies. Life does not, consciousness does not,reality does not as someone who died multiple times in every reality you're CR life is never that serious the Cr character dies we moved on and live for the next adventure we were never born never dies we just exist as consciousness moving to different forms bodies appearancess. The real power is not the method it's the awareness knowing that I'm Aware that every method works for me or im aware that i can go to my desired life just by living in the imagination and not relying on my limited senses.

Thanks for the compliment! It’s wild how many people need the basics explained over and over because they’re so stuck in this reality (CR) like it’s the only one with a history. They think if something happened here, it must be the same everywhere. Spoiler alert: different realities have different histories, and just because one group faced discrimination here doesn’t mean it’s the same in every reality. In some realities, gender might be totally equal, and in others, it’s flipped, with totally different groups facing discrimination. Reality’s a mixed bag, babe, but some people just can’t handle that.

What really grinds my gears is the fake moral superiority they try to flex just because they don’t race change or age down, as if they’re not out there aging up whenever they feel like it. Babe, this reality isn’t some golden blueprint—there’s no “original reality” that’s the end-all, be-all. That idea? Complete illusion.

And when they try to argue? It’s always the same old trio of logical fallacies: ad hominem attacks, straw man nonsense, and hasty generalizations. I’m just waiting for a solid argument against age or race changing that doesn’t rely on flimsy fallacies. Surprise, surprise—they can’t. There’s no ultimate right or wrong here—no supreme law governing what’s okay across all realities. It’s laughable, really.

People clinging to CR norms like their lives depend on it are either going to struggle to shift or not shift at all. Shifting is as simple as plugging into a different outlet—your awareness is the plug, and each reality is a different socket. Unplug from one, connect to another. Meanwhile, I’m basing my views on logical observations, and they’re acting like their opinions are rock-solid, when really, they’re about as stable as quicksand.

And it’s funny how people forget the total subjectivity of shifting before they jump on their soapbox. It’s always “um, excuse me, but you’re doing it wrong because I said so” (cue fallacies or their utter lack of shifting knowledge). Arguing with keyboard warriors? Beyond pointless. Block, move on, and don’t waste a second on that nonsense. I’m here for real debates, not this mess.

They’re obsessed with CR and all its baggage but claim they’re “moving on” or “not living in the old story.” Yet the second someone ages down or changes race, they lose their minds. Shifting is all about infinite possibilities, but they’re too busy being mad over CR norms to see it. It’s beyond limiting, and if they keep letting CR baggage control them, they’re going to miss out on everything shifting has to offer.

If they’re so into talking about the 4D and living in their imagination, they should start seeing CR as just an old story that they can move beyond. They need to stop letting random opinions on Tumblr—or anywhere—control them. Block, focus on your journey, and stop wasting energy on what others think. All this complaining? It’s useless. Shifters who are busy policing others are missing what really matters—their own dreams and their own lives. Educate yourself, pick up a book, find something meaningful for your shifting journey, and stop letting some random on the internet ruin your day.

At the end of the day, live in the present. Observe the past, but don’t let it control you. If you’re aware of yourself as consciousness, nothing can truly hurt you—not people, not opinions, not CR drama. Your CR self might feel the sting, but you? You’re a consciousness, moving beyond bodies and histories. Life, consciousness, and reality never end. When you shift, your CR self wraps up one story and moves on to the next adventure.

In the end, it’s not about any one method being the answer. It’s about awareness and knowing every method has potential. I can live in my Desired Reality just by embracing my imagination and moving past limited senses. Thanks for recognizing that—here’s hoping more people catch on soon. It’s time to stop treating CR like it’s the center of the universe and start seeing the limitless possibilities of shifting.

[ryuichirou]

Replies

I’ll start with some news.

I am currently locked out of my twitter account. We did everything we could to try to get it back, but no matter what happens, it will most likely take some time.

I don’t like bringing attention to this kind of stuff because we have tons of other things to talk about which are more important than some toddlers trying to obliterate us for 1000th time (frankly I would rather talk about the colour of Leona’s butthole), but this time it’s kind of serious and important. We don’t know what’s going to happen next, but for now I wanted to say that if we won’t get the account back in time or will lose it indefinitely, we will have to ask for your help. I am sorry for that in advance.

Also, if you were discussing/working on commissions with me via DMs there, please email me or contact me via any other platform as soon as possible. Just in case.

Mass-reporting is wild, eh?

I am rambling a bit, and I didn’t really want to complain, because I know for a fact it would give satisfaction to some people, but you know? I am going to complain: it sucks ass. It happened at the worst time possible and it happened over nothing (literally, the art that got it was a Todd/Wallace non-sexual piece that got too many likes for children’s liking). I don’t care if people don’t like us, I don’t care if they gossip with their girlies about us, all I want is for them to leave us the fuck alone and let us do our thing in peace. Imagine being so unbelievably boring and so incredibly unlikeable and unable to make meaningful connections not only with other people but also with any kind of media that you just have to go out of your way to ruin things for others because this is the only thing that makes your immature brain produce something that even remotely resembles joy. Because your own pathetic self is so deeply insecure and constantly frustrated at yourself that you just have to create an illusion of control over someone else to feel important. I can’t even call it a troll behavior – at least trolls are funny sometimes. This is just someone who hit a midlife crisis at the age of 16 and made it my problem for some reason.  

And yet, it’s okay. Even if we end up losing our account, it’ll be a huge disappointment and it will hurt us tremendously, it already did. And it’s scary to think about this scenario, and it’s difficult to talk about how, if it happens, that it’s going to be okay. But eventually we’ll get over it and build ourselves up again, just like we did before several times. And these clowns will still be boring, unlikeable, lonely and very likely shit at drawing.

So yeah. Take care of yourself and block everyone who seems suspicious on sight. It’s not a panacea, but certainly is helpful.

Alright, time to talk about Leona’s butthole (not really, but we will talk about SebeMal, and it’s even better) 💪

Anonymous asked:

Seeing Vanitas made me curious about something: did you ever read Pandora Hearts? I think for a lot of people that series went hand in hand with Black Butler as the main "victorian aesthetic mangas" from the late '00/early '10. Gothic lolitas really had it all back then..

Ohh you’re so right Anon, it was the ultimate late ‘00/early ’10 aesthetic! Boys in vests with bows/ties, crosses and rosaries and traumatic and problematic backstories lol I really miss it sometimes. What an era.

I personally haven’t read/watched Pandora Hearts, but Katsu did! But it was even before we met… So my only association with this title is that Katsu’s old username was “ozbezariusnya” 🥰 Oh, and that Gilbert (?) looks very cute, but let’s be honest, of course I would think he is cute.

nebula-ryuu asked:

Regarding my question, I mean if the Malleus and Sebek ship has a dynamic or a context 😅😅 a background or a story. I have a certain feeling about what it is like but I don't want to affirm anything hehe

I don't know if I made what I said better understood, in any case I can explain it again, no problem 🙏

Oh! Thank you for clarifying!

As for our background for shipping them, we just really really love loyal characters that are a bit unhinged about their loyalty and love/obsession. So we didn’t even have a choice, they stole our hearts… and Malleus is very interesting in his interactions with Sebek too; he is annoyed by him sometimes, but he tolerates a lot and teases him.

As for the ship itself, we tend to think that in addition to Sebek being loyal and obsessive with Malleus, he is also deeply in love with him ever since he was a child. He is conflicted because he really wants to be his lover, but also thinks that he isn’t worthy. Malleus is amused by Sebek and allows him to do much more than he probably should. Actually, I think I talked about their dynamic in this post!

I hope I understood you correctly. Thank you for your question! And if you have any more questions, please let me know.

Anonymous asked:

would Lilia and Azul ever fight over who gets to have Idia?

Replied here! Thank you for your question, Anon.

[super-paper]

Truly Yours: A Defense of "Iron Might"

"My dear, In the midst of hate, I found within me an invincible love. In the midst of tears, I found within me an invincible smile. In the midst of chaos, I found within me an invincible calm. I realized, through it all, that… In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better – pushing right back "

Disclaimer: The above quote is famously misattributed to Camus-- who seemingly only wrote the midst of winter/invincible summer portion of the original piece-- and the author of the expanded quote remains unknown. Nevertheless, it fits Toshi's character perfectly.

Iron Might remains a polarizing love-or-hate-it topic within the fandom, with many fans expressing their concerns that it ruins Toshinori's character/arc. It's no secret that I fall pretty firmly on the "love" side of camp-- and as is the case with all things I love, I can't love quietly or in moderation. So here's another really really really long post on all the reasons why I love it, and why I don't feel that this was character assassination in the slightest.

Breaking the key points down, I aim to discuss:

A) How Iron Might acts as a sort of resolution to Toshi's complex relationship with his body and injuries, and reconciles the divide between Toshinori's body and soul.

B) How Iron Might embodies MHA's definition of "love" and acts as a love letter to everything Toshinori wants to protect and everything he's ever wanted to protect. Iron Might is not meant to be read as a suicide mission, but as Toshinori weaponizing the joy of living as "Yagi Toshinori" and pitting the weight of his entire existence against AFO.

C) How Iron Might further cements MHA as "meta-fiction" through discussion of what being "quirkless" means on a narrative level + the dismantling of popular but overdone tropes that people have come to expect in comics. Toshi is also fighting for his right to exist in a battle manga against a toxic comic nerd who thinks that Toshi's role ended in Kamino and that he contributes more to the story by dying.

D) How Iron Might functions as a narrative device (i.e. It gets Toshinori to Izuku and Tomura). This is the battlefield where Toshi's character was always destined to end up because this is where all his unfinished business is at. Simple as!

"The body and mind are two halves of a whole" Iron Might as Toshinori coming to terms with his injuries and his body:

Kicking things off with this point bc I feel like... understanding how Toshi's relationship and struggles with his own body have been a major part of his character arc is something that's, like, absolutely essential when it comes to getting an accurate read on what Iron Might means to Toshi's character. Iron Might ultimately functions as a reconciliation between Toshinori's wounded body and heroic soul, so it's a bit sad to see people repeatedly dismissing it as "ruining Toshinori's character arc" without ever taking Toshi's relationship with his own body into consideration. Like, this is not some "insignificant" part of his arc that's being prioritized over everything else:

A collection of very relevant panels! Side note: Tsukauchi fumbling the toshibowl so hard that Toshi's car seems like the better romantic choice in comparison will never stop being funny. Aiba ur the only person in that control room i respect btw.

For the longest time Toshinori has viewed his emaciated, ill body as something pathetic and shameful. His body was something he felt that he *had* to hide from the world, in order to maintain the illusion of being a hero who could never possibly succumb to evil. His injuries and the state of his body cleaved his identity/self-perception in two-- he begins the series treating his actual body as the "secret identity" instead of his authentic self. The story doesn't spoonfeed this to the readers because it expects its readers to have enough empathy to put two-and-two together on their own-- That Toshi doesn't simply struggle with the loss of OFA & "All Might/heroism" in the aftermath of Kamino, but also the loss of what he felt was his "true" body.

Toshinori is very easily read as someone who suffers from intense body dysmorphia-- and him forcibly changing himself back into his muscular form over and over again can also quite easily be read as Toshi attempting to cling to whatever time he has left with the body that doesn't make him feel like a stranger in his own skin. It's him holding onto the self he views as "actually him" for as long as he can.

Toshi's arc is something that resonates with a lot of people who have disabilities or suffer from dysphoria-- So it's frustrating when some fans decide to take the least gracious interpretation of his character and issues and run with it, instead attempting to frame Toshi as some washed up attention seeker who ~simply can't let go of his glory days~. Toshi's character has been hit with a lot of ableism both in-universe and out of it, with the fandom only really acknowledging that he's a disabled man when it conveniences them and otherwise disregarding how this aspect of him plays a major role in his arc.

Iron Might is built to specifically resemble Toshi's "ideal" body-- to the bitter cynics, this supports their idea that Toshi is unable to let go of "All Might" and hasn't learned to value himself or his life as Yagi Toshinori. To those who understand what Toshi's been going through and understand that his arc was never *just* about "living," though, it's a different story altogether. So much of Iron Might symbolizes Toshinori coming to terms with the fact that he is a disabled man, accepting that there was never anything shameful about this, accepting that it never needed to be "hidden away" for him to be a hero-- and ultimately, accepting that his body is 100% him and an undeniable aspect of what makes him a hero, no matter how injured.

"Who's that skinny guy?" KID, LET ME TELL YOU A STORY.

There is a noticeable shift in Toshi's relationship with his body during Act 3-- We go from practically begging that Toshi's true form not be exposed to the public during Kamino, to Toshi encouraging that this fight be broadcast to the world. In the aftermath of Kamino and after losing the last embers of OFA, we still see Toshi forcibly shifting into his muscle form multiple times whenever he wants to "reassure" others, even though this process obviously hurts him:

The implications behind this are obvious: Toshi is not coping with the loss of his body as well as he lets on, and all those implications finally come to a painful head during the dark hero arc.

During his meeting with Stain, Stain outright refuses to recognize Toshi's "Muscle form" as "All Might" and instead makes it clear that it was Toshi's heroic soul that earned him the right to call himself a "true hero"--and that this "soul" still exists in everyone Toshi has ever saved. It never went away. The embers of OFA might have vanished, but the flames of Toshi's own heroism remain all around him-- they keep him warm and allow him to keep shining.

Toshi begins to accept his own body for the first time after his meeting with Stain-- we see him starting to reassure his friends as his authentic self instead of scrambling to shift back into his muscle form. During his last stand against AFO, he boldly shows the world his injured back, and wordlessly asks that they still express their faith in it and feel protected by it. His injuries are a part of him and his lived reality, and they're part of what makes him a human.

"--Because a hero's back exists to reassure others!"

Toshinori's body itself is ultimately included among his blessings that he weaponizes against AFO: his bonds, his origin, and his body-- no matter how badly injured it may be-- are all what defines him as a hero. Even if his back is no longer "broad," it will always be something that reminds others that "he is here."

During this fight, Toshinori reconciles his fractured identity by finally embracing all the aspects of himself that he'd previously grown distant from. Reflecting on the life he's led as Yagi Toshinori-- the life he led before he ever became "All Might" and the life he led after receiving his injuries and losing OFA-- is what gives him the strength to laugh in AFO's face, and it's what causes the light to finally return to his eyes. In the midst of a battle between life and death, we witness Toshinori being reborn.

He fully embraces his humanity during this fight, and then weaponizes that humanity against AFO (and considering AFO's character/how AFO is constantly attempting to escape his own humanity... it's pr delightful to see him getting his shit wrecked by another "god" who fell to earth and was forced to live his as a mortal, but ultimately realized that he loved it).

The battle ends with "All Might's" iconic shading now being used for Toshi's true form-- symbolizing the reconciliation between Toshi's heroic soul and his wounded but nevertheless heroic body.

As an aside: I also feel the context surrounding Iron Might/Toshi's body touches on MHA's theme of "consent versus nonconsent" as something that separates true heroes from true villains (starting from AFO forcing a quirk on Yoichi, cumulating with Toshi offering Izuku OFA and later making it clear that the quirk requires Izuku's explicit consent to be passed on-- OFA being born from an act of utter violation and then turned into something that explicitly requires consent always been one of my favorite aspects of MHA's lore, but I digress). During Kamino, AFO forcibly exposed Toshi's body to the world in an effort to completely humiliate him and destroy the public's image of him. Now, Toshi taking his power back and exposing his true form to the world entirely on his own terms.

"All that I've been blessed with will bear its weight against you!"-- or, Iron Might as a love letter.

I've talked on this point a lot bc it's what enamored me immediately with this fight (which is really about the depth of Toshinori's love and the love others have for him and his willingness to BE loved by others -versus- a man who takes advantage of the love others have for him and is utterly unable to leave his fragile heart at the mercy of others out of fear of ppl perceiving him), so I'll try to keep it brief:

Iron Might embodies the essence of how MHA defines love (love is admiration, love is imitation, love is seeing/watching, etc) while also acting as Toshinori's love letter to everything he wants to protect (himself and his life as "Yagi Toshinori" included). It also embodies the essence of how MHA defines true heroism (those who have been blessed should use their blessings for those who have not been blessed, those who can still act must act, etc etc etc ).

Toshi would not have been able to pull off Class 1A's moves or found the best way to integrate them into a cohesive fighting style without love as imitation/watching/admiration. (again, versus AFO, who at this point just randomly fires off powerful quirks without any actual respect for how the quirks work or how they can support each other, & who doesn't admire his own student beyond his capacity for rage).

This battle is a celebration of the bonds Toshi has allowed himself to form. It's him using everything he's ever been given and everything he's ever been blessed with to fight against a man who only knows how to take things away. Toshi has learned that OFA was never what made him a hero, that he can live without OFA-- and he's pitting the weight of that life against a man who is convinced that OFA is everything, who can't move on from it, and who has built his entire existence around getting it back. AFO wins the physical battle, sure, but Toshi remains the clear winner in the war of existences.

"This story is still being written, Toshinori."

Another aside: Names are everything in MHA, and that's especially true in the final act. MHA treats names like incantations, and “Do your best, Toshinori!” is the magic spell Toshi is using to motivate himself. Hori frequently uses how a person chooses to refer to themselves during key scenes as a way of emphasizing a person's mental state. From this, we can deduce that Toshi doesn't view this fight as All Might vs. AFO-- he views this fight as Toshinori vs. AFO.

Toshinori has weaponized his blessings and bonds and is now hitting back at AFO with the full weight of his complete existence. In this fight, he carves the joy of living-- of being Yagi Toshinori-- into AFO's barren, empty soul. Every scene he flashes back to is a scene of the life he has lived as Toshinori, not as All Might. This fight, just like the rest of the war, is all about "love" in all its various forms. AFO's abuse of love (both of his own deeply hidden love and of the love others have for him) is why he cannot win in a war where love is the essential element-- love is what keeps motivating everyone in this war to keep getting up, to keep struggling, to keep reaching out, etc etc etc.

Moving on.

"I'm quirkless. Born without a role." or, Iron Might as an act of defiance against both the narrative and the expectations of the 'battle manga' genre.

MHA being an example of stealth meta-fiction is something I've talked about before, particularly so with these two posts (plus... basically any post about our favorite cringefail LARPer, AFO).

Horikoshi takes full advantage of the medium/the fact that MHA is a manga and uses every tool that's available to both tell and enhance the story, and these chapters have cemented him as someone who has mastered his craft-- The decision to draw Toshi's true self with thick/bold lines after his armor breaks, the dark shadows finally leaving his eyes, Toshi consistently referring to himself by his own name instead of his hero name, the chapter titles, the backgrounds, etc etc etc all of it. Absolutely everything has meaning.

Through Iron Might, we once again delve into how the series chooses to define "quirklessness"-- the idea that quirklessness is meant to be a disability allegory gets more or less debunked (thankfully, since MHA already has a fairly good track record with depicting ACTUAL mental and physical illnesses/disabilities), with the narrative instead framing the possession of a quirk as something that determines what "role" a person gets in life. The implication being that not having a quirk means you don't get a role, period. You don't get to shine brightly on stage, you don't even get to be an "extra." This fits into the previously established idea that society's biases against "villainous quirks" basically railroad a lot of people onto the path of villainy (plus, the treatment of heroes/villains as fictional characters by the masses instead of viewing them as actual people). But, quirks are just quirks-- they're neither good or evil, and they aren't what determine whether a person is a hero or a villain. And as such, having or not having a quirk isn't what determines whether or not someone is truly a hero.

Toshinori is now defying the narrative that states that not having a quirk means you don't get a role. At the same time, he stands up against AFO-- our resident toxic comic book fanboy who sincerely believes Toshi should have picked Kamino as the best time to "bow out" (read: die) as a character-- who spews all sorts of vile things about the state of Toshi's body and how this is the primary reason why Toshi has no place in the story. The satire practically writes itself.

Like so many other characters, Toshinori uses the "role" of All Might as a coping mechanism for much of the series. As already stated, there is a disconnect between Toshinori's body and his soul--Toshi begins to use All Might as a mask to hide his feelings, his fears, and his humanity from the rest of the world. The series draws attention to the fact that the people forgot about the heart and soul--that is, the person-- behind All Might and started treating him like a character instead of a real person, and it's made clear that Toshinori forgot, too.

AFO is still trying to hide his true self in the role of the demon king, but Toshinori is no longer trying to hide himself behind All Might. AFO thinks Toshinori should have died in Kamino because that's where his "role" as a "character" ended, but Toshinori refuses that end. Both men find their origins in fiction (AFO from captain hero, Toshinori from Anpanman) but only Toshi has managed to reconcile his identity, break free of the story, and meet AFO head on as a human instead of a character. AFO is still hiding and refusing to engage with this story as a real person.

Toshi's overshadowed eyes are also heavily implied to be a side effect of him completely losing himself in the role of "All Might," rather than merely being the result of the injury he got from AFO-- we see that his eyes were already overshadowed long before he ever received his fateful injury, and the emphasis on shadowed eyes is also a design quirk that ties him to AFO (whose eyes were constantly hidden by shadows bc he was constantly LARPing as a demon lord instead of being authentic-- To drive this bit of visual story telling home, Hori emphasizes AFO's eyes whenever the "demon king" mask starts to slip and we start seeing peeks of what an utter sad sap of a person AFO is beneath the mask). It's a clever bit of show-don't-tell and another testament to Hori's art direction. Eyes are forever the window to the heart and soul in MHA, and Toshi reconnecting with his heart and soul-- with what defines him as a person-- is what finally causes the light to return to his eyes. The mask is fully off.

"Midoriya Izuku and Yagi Toshinori ~ Midoriya Izuku and Shigaraki Tomura ~ Shigaraki Tomura and....?"-- Or, Iron Might as a Narrative Tool.

(reminds u that the pivotal/trajectory changing chapters known as 304 and 305 were titled "Midoriya Izuku and Yagi Toshinori" and "Midoriya Izuku and Tomura Shigaraki". These three are the key!)

Changing gears for a sec and speaking purely from a writer's perspective: Iron Might simply couldn't have been included at Gunga and Toshi simply couldn't have remained locked up in a surveillance room for the entirety of the final battle-- because Toshinori's final destination as a character was always supposed to be the Izuku and Tomura fight. That's where his role as a character was always supposed to reach fruition and find his resolution:

"--I want to save that little boy!"

Aura!Might shedding tears when he realizes that Izuku wants to save Tomura and that Izuku has redefined OFA as something that exists to save is one of those underrated character moments that deserves more attention, because it's like. Everything. One of the most important scenes in the series by a large margin.

Izuku's declaration tells us everything we need to know about the trajectory of the series. Aura!Might crying in response to that declaration gives us everything we need to anticipate where his character is heading and to understand why Toshi's arc isn't over until he finally reconciles his business/regrets with Tomura & OFA/Nana.

it's heavily implied that real!Toshi was crying, too, after he felt what vestige!Izuku said. His eyes are hidden, but we see him briefly wiping his tears away. (and this is one of the many things I love about MHA-- there are so many lovely little details that add so much to the story. You just gotta be willing to look for them.)

Anyway! This point really speaks for itself, so I won't get into it too much: Tomura/Izuku's battlefield is where Toshi was always supposed to end up-- it's where he obviously needs to be to wrap up the loose strings in his arc, hear Izuku's "I am here" moment, and "change fate" by Izuku's side (not necessarily just his own fate, but also Tomura's). Iron Might is just a way that gets Toshi from point A to Point B while allowing Toshinori's character to shine as brightly as possible.

TL;DR The stage is finally set, the main characters have finally assembled, and now we get to see how the grand finale plays out.

-- -- -- -- --

In summation: Iron Might is sappy, sentimental, and fueled entirely by heart rather than logic-- and it's everything I love about this series.

[dokidokitsuna]

Goldilocks in Grimmland

This is so, so premature...but my muses have been with me from start to finish on this idea and I adore it, so I'm talking about it now! :D

So in the RWBY NeverFell AU, Yang's little mishap during the Vytal Festival actually follows her around for quite a while; with pretty much everyone but her closest friends whispering behind her back about what she did to Mercury. This is very isolating and frustrating for her, especially since she knows from Ruby's eye-witness account that Merc was definitely faking his injury. She's determined to figure out how and why she saw that illusion, and also kinda wants revenge against Mercury for low-key ruining her life. ^^; And her investigation eventually leads her back to him...except, he looks a bit different now. Shocked by his Grimmification and eager to know more, she dives even deeper into the mystery.

Unfortunately, by this time, Salem has arrived at Beacon, parking her giant whale outside the premises similarly to the way she did in Volume 8. ^^ And upon landing, it creates a Grimm-based ecosystem-- a dark forest that gradually spreads outwards the longer it stays there, only adding to the population of Grimm overrunning the area. That's a whole other issue, that the rest of Team RWBY will probably be helping with. For Yang, it's mostly just a giant hindrance to her investigation. She's got suspicions about Mercury (and knowing he's a silver-eyed warrior, suspicions about her deceased mother) and she's sure that the answers are somewhere in that Grimm-whale. But with the death-forest of Grimm surrounding it, it seems impossible for her to get there.

Until, she remembers she knows someone with a semblance that's perfect for the job. ^^

+++

There are several reasons why I love this idea: it gives Yang the spotlight for once in her life; it makes Mercury relevant; it provides an opportunity to get members of the main cast close to Salem.

But the biggest one is: IT GIVES ME AN EXCUSE TO USE REN!!!!! (≧∇≦)ﾉ

I've always loved Lie Ren; like Penny, he's one of those characters who's just impossible to screw up (in basic concept, anyway...). Across RWBY's many adaptations and spinoffs, he's always adorable and always looks cool in combat.

The only problem with him, and the reason I've rarely spoken about him, is that...people don't seem to care about him?? ;_; Specifically, in the source material, he's given so little to do that there just isn't much of a reason to care about him. He barely has any motivations that don't boil down to some variant of "protect Nora". Even Nora herself is given character connections and talking points outside of "her man", but Ren has no one and nothing else. He gets a couple episodes of spotlight in Volume 4, and that's it for the whole series. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I mean, just think about this: Ren is the only member of the main cast who doesn't have a character song. o_o Look it up, it's true. I had to look it up just to make sure, because I found it appalling...this is a character who was originally voiced by the creator of the show; why is he such an afterthought???

So I decided, if I don't like this, I gotta do right by him in NeverFell, somehow. And it was REALLY hard to think of a place to put him, until I suddenly struck gold with this idea. ^^ Yang's little 'detective story arc' had been a thing for a while, and although I wanted her to be separate from Team RWBY, I never really liked the idea of her being alone. A character like her works best with someone to bounce off, and Ren's coolness is a great contrast for her bubbly personality.

Plus, I think putting Ren in a position like this could service him, too: not only does it give me an opportunity to add his semblance, backstory, and maybe even a Nuckelavee fight to the plot in the absence of a V4 timeline; it could give him a chance to "flesh himself out" the way Nora did in V7. Y'know, allow him to really connect with someone besides Nora-- and then, maybe seeing how similar-yet-different Yang is to his childhood friend is what'll get him to realize that he's never done this before. That maybe he's stuck to the familiar dynamic of that early relationship for so long, that there are different sides of his own personality that he's forgotten about. Sides that are coming out now that he's on this new adventure, with a new friend~.

[theprinceandthewitch]

This fandoms weird disdain for Hunter is honestly kind of fascinating to me. People put him down in to elevate Amity - often saying that he, Gus, and Willow could be written out of the story and nothing would change. Which I think is kind of crazy, especially in Hunter's case.

Okay so, I crossed out paragraph #2 because I didn't explain it well, like at all LOL. The point I was trying to make was that Hunter is used as a scapegoat for people who did not like the "change in tone" in Season 2. The "change in tone" was actually just the introduction of the main plot in Separate Tides.

I also wanted to add the side effect to TOH fans deluding themselves into thinking TOH is a "teehee lesbian fantasy show" for an entire season: This is the reason they try to gaslight people into thinking Luz and Hunter are siblings. Not only is Luz not allowed to be bisexual - she's not even allowed to be friends with the type of boy she likes. Even after everything is said and done, they want to maintain the "Luz is actually a lesbian" illusion.

But yeah... What I think is really interesting about Luz's and Hunter's relationship is that regardless of whether or not the writers intended for this to happen, Luz's relationship with Hunter became more important to the main plot than Luz's relationship with Amity. This is because Hunter has significant ties to the villain while Amity does not. Even though Luz and Hunter don't have alot of one on one interactions every single on of their interactions is significant because it moves the plot forward.

I'd also argue there's envy mixed in there, because of Luz's and Hunter's parallels to Caleb and Evelyn. They've tried to argue Luz and Amity are mirrors to Caleb and Evelyn, even though they know their argument has no basis in reality.

Plus, the writers created some interesting implications with Luz's and Hunter's relationship by making Luz upfront with how she feels with Hunter in TTT. Even though Luz has never actually done that with any character in the show - not even her girlfriend. Luz doesnt tell anyone how she really feels unless she is forced to, but for some reason she is honest with Hunter. Hunter is a character Luz hasn't known for long, but she feels like she can be honest with him over her friends, mentor, and girlfriend. That has got to sting.

But I do think most of this disdain comes from Hunter "ruining" their little "lesbian" cartoon by simply existing.

For some reason, they had it in their heads that a male character wasn't going to play a significant role in Luz's story. Even though Hunter has been foreshadowed since Witches Before Wizards and appears in Luz's self insert story in SAI. They legitimately believed Luz's being interested in boys was just a phase even though THEY KNEW this cartoon had a bisexual lead. They can easily google for official sources that have made posts saying Luz is bisexual. But they didn't care and just continued to delude themselves into thinking a cartoon written by a bisexual wasn't going to represent bisexuality in any shape or form.

[avatarmerida]

@soldrawss : thinks of a huntlow AU

Me: instant brainrot

Sol posted a lounge singer/bartender AU on twitter like less than 48 hours ago and it instantly consumed me. I know nothing about lounge singers or what time period this is but I just went with it tbh here ya go. Part 2

———

She’s not coming over here, the voice in his head repeated as Willow lingered in the doorway of the backroom. No way, now way. Hunter had nearly jumped out of his skin when she came out, assuming she had left by now. The club had been closed for over an hour now, and he was always the last one out. But no, there she stood in the harsh light of the cheap light bulbs that seemed to favor her and her alone. 

She was a vision but she was no illusion.

Maybe there’s some creepy fan waiting outside for her, he thought. The very idea made him shudder. It wouldn’t be the first time, but Willow was the one the other girls called on to take care of these things. He remembered once Eda had kicked out some heckler who had been stealing drinks from other patrons and quickly over served himself. As he was unceremoniously escorted out, he declared that he’d be waiting outside all night. The singer finishing her set came up to the bar to get a drink and Hunter offered to call the police to at least have someone walk her home, but she said she wasn’t worried. Before he could ask why, Willow walked up and asked him for some ice. He saw her knuckles were bruised and had a few tiny fresh cuts, obviously from a recent altercation. Hunter quickly wrapped some ice in a clean rag and began rambling about getting the first aid kit but Willow just chuckled and said it was fine as  though it happened all the time (which Hunter later found out it did). 

“But…. But your hand,” he sputtered, amazed at how calm she was. 

“Oh, it’s fine,” she said, unbothered by the purple hue it had adopted. The ice had prevented the swelling, which seemed to be her biggest concern. “That’s why we wear gloves, right?” She gave him a wink and any chance that a Hunter had of being normal around her was gone. Hunter already knew she had the voice of an angel, but turns out she had the ruthlessness of one too. 

He was hooked.

So every night he sat at the bar, waiting for a glimpse of her. The regulars knew not to order a drink during her set because Hunter’s attention was rightfully elsewhere the moment she walked on stage. It wasn’t just her voice either, her sets were smart and funny too. She’d talk between songs, sometimes telling a story when she was introducing a number. Hunter wasn’t totally sure if they were true stories or just things she made up to help with transitions but any possibility at a glimpse into her life was too tempting to pass up.

Don’t stare, don’t be creepy, he thought, trying to steady his breath.  She had unpinned her hair but that only made her look more stunning in Hunter’s opinion. Her emerald green dress clung to her like it was aware of what an honor it was, making the room feel like it was bland and beige when she wasn’t occupying it. Without her signature white feather boa, he could see her bare arms, covered in freckles like a collection of constellations waiting to be discovered. He had never seen her so close before, he felt objectively starstruck. It was like his eyes didn’t know how to look anywhere else. It felt like being too close to sun.

Usually he could only see her face through a sea of people, the spotlight helped but it paled in comparison to her natural glow. It was like she was destined to always be across the room from him. He held his breath as though this was a sighting the slightest wrong move could ruin, as though she could be startled. But she rummaged through her bag and when she found what she was looking for, she reapplied her ruby lipstick in her handheld mirror shaped like a white rose. She was effortlessly elegant. As she blew a kiss at her reflection, he felt his pulse stop.

 She must be on her way somewhere, he thought. Of course she has a life outside this place, duh. He tried not to look like he was staring as he pretended to write something down, unaware he was holding the pen upside down.

From the corner of her eye, Willow scanned the room and saw they were alone. Perfect, she thought as she snapped her compact closed and made her way over to the bar. 

Be cool, be cool, he begged. He expected her to walk by him, maybe give him a small wave or a smile to acknowledge him and say goodnight. He was mustering up the courage to give her a nonchalant nod, like she was just another person in the bar and not the unknowing keeper of his heart. 

Oh Titan that’s so corny, he thought. There’s no way she even knows my name, I need to get over this-

“Hey Hunter,” she said, leaning on the counter like she was just anyone and not the most angelic thing to ever grace his bar.

“Oh, h-hey,” he attempted to respond casually, pretending to wipe the counter to look busy. He hadn’t exited her to stop. He cursed himself for not using her name as she had said his. He didn’t feel worthy of it. “Why are you here so late?”

 “Skara had a date so we all moved our schedules around to help her out and I ended up with the short straw,” she said. Hunter recalled she had gone on later than she usually did. “But I don't mind, it’s kinda cool seeing this place empty.”

“Eh, you get used to it,” he shrugged.

“That’s right, you always close, don’t you?” she said, knowing Hunter was a famous workaholic. “Oh wow, with the crowds you get I bet you like the peace and quiet at the end of the night.”

“It’s nice,” he admitted. “Gives me time to organize things and do inventory.”

“Oh shoot,  I’m probably interrupting your routine huh? Sorry, I can-.” she leaned back as though to leave but Hunter cut her off.

“No! Uh, I mean no… you’re not,” he tried to cover. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to, actually. Someone who's not slurring their words, that is.”

“Well then, if you don’t mind the company,” she said, setting her bag down and making herself more comfortable. “I don’t mind being it.”

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, hoping she’d say yes.

She had been hoping he would ask. “You sure? Wasn’t last call over an hour ago?”

“Well that was yesterday,” he said, preparing a glass for her. “According to the clock, it’s technically a new day.”

“Well whaddya know?” she said as she watched him add ice to the shaker as he proceeded to mix her drink. He thought about doing the tricks he and Luz had practiced to get extra tips on nights when they worked together, but the risk of dropping something and looking foolish was too great so he played it safe. In record time, she had a  drink in front of her.

“How did you know my drink order?” she asked, impressed. 

“I memorize everyone’s,” he half-lied.

“Wow,” she cooed, stirring her drink as she watched him move behind the bar. “You know every drink by heart?”

“I mean, pretty much,” he said. “Just makes things easier, really. Sometimes I make up drinks when it’s slow.”

“Really? Do you give them fun names?”

“Huh? Oh, kinda? I-I mostly name them after birds.” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I uh, I like birds.”

“Oh?” she said, tapping the glass with her nail. Do you like songbirds? She wanted desperately to ask, but instead she said: “Really? What’s your favorite one?”

“Um, well I have the cardinal which is just cranberry juice and bourbon and but I add some garnishes on the side that make it look cool,”

“I’ll take one,” she smiled and Hunter went to work. The moment she set her empty glass back on the counter, he had another one ready in hand for her. She knew he was famous around the club for his attention to detail but she selfishly hoped the gesture was based in special attention to her.

She took a sip and her eyes widened in delight. “Oh! I love this!” She said and Hunter beamed as though it was the only drink he had ever made. “Eda said you were the one who made custom drinks for her and Raine’s wedding.”

“Well, it wasn’t too hard,” he said. “They have very distinct personalities, Raine wanted their drink to be something easy on the stomach but with a hint of apple while Eda cared more about her drink ‘weeding out the weak.’”

“Oh I remember those,” laughed Willow. The wedding had been the first time Willow saw Hunter, it was when she found out he would be working at the club. She had maybe had one too many ‘Eda’s Elixirs’ (some kind of apple moonshine mixed with red wine and whiskey and some secret fourth thing that made it work somehow) and thought she had imagined the stoic blonde she had dubbed ‘Prince Jawline.’ But he turned out to be real, a friend of a friend, a future coworker, a kindred spirit even. A man she still referred to as Prince Jawline when he came up in conversation. He didn’t remember meeting her there, but memory loss was a common theme that night.

But luckily Willow was just slightly better at holding her liquor.

“What about me?” she said, trying to sound as though she hadn’t been dying to ask. “If you had to make a drink named after me, what would it be?”

“Hmmm,” he thought for only a moment. “Probably sparkling white wine and kiwi. It would be bubbly and sweet and green, just like you. And I’d add a pink flower garnish, like the one you sometimes wear in your hair.”

Willow blushed, having thought her question would adorably stump him so she could make a joke about him being a tall drink of water. But this was much better.

 “Well, looks like I have a new usual then, huh?” She said with a smile as he went to give her a sample of his apparently improvised creation. He made sure to select the most elegant glass. 

“So, what’s your secret?” she asked and he froze for a moment before she continued. “How do you make these taste so good?”

“Oh, that! Oh it’s uh it’s the cherries,” he said. “I always put extra cherries in just about everything to make it sweeter.”

“Tsk tsk tsk, you can’t give up your secret so easily, bar boy,” she teased, picking out one of the aforementioned cherries. 

“Usually as a bartender, I’m the one people tell their secrets to,” he joked, trying to focus on counting the limes and lemons. But he hadn’t retained anything except the way Willow’s voice danced, the way it got slow and sneaky when she made a joke. It was the way she talked between her sets when she was introducing a love song.

“Ohh, you’ve got a stash of secrets, huh?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “Anything good?”

“Well, I knew about the Blight divorce I think before even Odalia did,” he said in a low voice, fully aware no one else was there or would be there. But he liked how Willow leaned in closer to hear him when he did.

“No!” she gasped.

“Yeah!” he said. He had never been one for gossip, but that was no longer a secret so it didn’t count, right?

“Oh, what else?” she asked, sipping her drink in anticipation. 

“Oh, wow I can hardly keep it sorted,” he said. “I get people telling me about how they hate their jobs, how they’re afraid of getting older. Oh man, you can’t imagine how many confessions of love I get in a night.”

“I dunno, I bet I probably can,” she said with a smirk he thought he imagined. “Can I tell you a secret?” 

“Anything,” Hunter said, hoping his smile was as charming as he was manifesting it to be. She paused for a moment to create suspense before a smile overtook her face.

“I can’t see a damn thing,” she said before erupting into a sea of giggles. She laughed with her whole body, her whole self present in the silliness and Hunter was so captivated that he almost didn’t notice she was about to fall off her stool. Hunter reached out and grabbed her hand to steady her and she looked at him in awe as he pulled her forward.

He gulped. “W-what do you mean?”

“I can’t wear my glasses onstage because of the glare from the uh light,” she explained breathlessly, not removing herself from his grasp. “So the whole time I’m up there I can’t see anything.”

“Nothing?”

She slowly shook her head, her eyes still locked on him. “Nope, nothing,” she said, biting her lip. “Not unless they’re real close.”

Hunter then realized he was still holding her hand as he leaped backward as though she was on fire. She giggled again, it was like every sound she made was music. He pretended to be invested in the bottles near him.

“Oh uh wow I had no idea,” he chuckled.

“Well I guess that’s a good thing,” she said, sitting back. “It helps get rid of the stage fright when you can’t tell the difference between a packed house and an empty one.”

“You hardly seem like the type to have stage fright,” he said, cleaning out another glass that definitely was not dirty. Or an empty house, he wanted to add.

“Thanks,” she smiled, stirring the remaining ice cubes in her cup with her straw. “You’re sweet.”

“So uh, if you’re not looking at anyone what do you think about up there?” asked Hunter nervously. “Just because you always seem like you’re singing to someone, but that’s probably just because you’re a good performer.”

She smiled. “Skara taught me this trick for how to tilt my head so people think I’m singing to just them,” said Willow. “But I’m actually just looking at the back wall. Or would be, if I could see it. Huh, I guess I’m technically looking at you when I sing.”

He nearly dropped the glass on the counter. “Huh uh yeah well uh but it's not like you can see me or uh anything,” he said, clearing his throat. 

“Yeah,” she said, swirling the lingering ice in the cup in her hand. “Shame.”

“Did you want another?”

“I should probably slow down,” she chuckled. “I’ve already had three. Think I’ll work on some of these cherries.”

“Oh yeah you’re probably starving,” said Hunter, feeling stupid “Nothing’s gonna be open now, do you want me to get you like some pretzels or something? I could see if-,”

“No, no, no,” she insisted. “I already made you wash three extra glasses, I am not gonna let you go to any more trouble for me.”

He’d go to all kinds of trouble for her.  

“Fair enough,” he said as he went back to his usual duties.

“Hmm, ya ever try to tie a cherry stem into a knot with your tongue?” she asked, starting to feel the alcohol warm her chest and make her feel cheeky.. 

“What? Uh, no I don’t think I have?” he chuckled, having never heard of such a thing.

“Here,” she said, tapping the glass nearly full of them as she took one for herself. “Try it.”

He indulged her, taking a cherry and popping it in his mouth as Willow did the same. She watched in delight as he focused on trying to maneuver the stem in his mouth, holding back the giggles as she tried not to win their unofficial race by too much. At last, a look of surprise showed in his eyes as he went to carefully pull out his creation.

“You did it!’ she exclaimed, taking out her matching knot to compare.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “That’s so weird, is that like a party trick or something?”

“Hmm, something like that,” she said, making circles on the counter with her finger. “If you can do it, it’s supposed to mean you’re a good kisser.” She added her latest knot to a glass filling up with stems before giving him a wink. 

“Oh,” he said, nearly choking on nothing. Had he known, he would’ve tried to be cooler about it. Her reveal got exactly the reaction she had been hoping for. She loved the way his blush reached his ears. “I uh I didn’t well I don’t even-,”

“What do I owe ya, bar keep?” She said, resting her chin in her fist, having no intention of leaving but knowing he���d be caught in that loop for awhile.

“It’s on the house,” he said, shaking himself out of his trance before deciding to put a single glass away just to seem busy. He wanted to just talk to her, but was worried that focusing on that without a task to keep him busy would make saying something stupid easier. This way he didn’t need to worry about what to do with his hands or if he was staring. He was so used to staring at her freely from across a crowded room, seeing her so close felt almost forbidden.

“Oh no I know how badly this place pays,” she said. “Gimme the damage.”

“Oh no no, you misunderstand,” he said, leaning down with his elbows on the counter to see her better, feeling a burst of confidence for some reason. “When I say it’s ‘on the house’ I mean it’s on Odalia’s tab.”

“Oh, well in that case,” she leaned forward and reached over the bar to grab another bottle from underneath as she quickly unscrewed the top. “Pour yourself a glass then too.”

“Heh, I’d love to but I’m not supposed to drink on the job,” he said, his heart racing at the effortless way she had secured the bottle. He had never been so jealous of a bottle before.

“Awh, you sure? I hate to drink alone,” she teased. She examined his face to see if the phrase sparked a locked memory, but no. He didn’t remember saying that to her at the wedding. Nevertheless, she knew he was ever the professional, only he would consider being the empty bar so far after closing time as still being on the job. “What about a Shirley Temple? Extra cherries?”

He chuckled. “Well, now how did you know my drink of choice?” he said with charisma he hadn’t seen in years, preparing two of them, somehow knowing she’d also want one.

“Guess you’re rubbing off on me,” she said with a grin, As he passed her drink to her, she reached out and purposely placed her hand over his. She could feel his hand lean into the touch as the tips of their fingers fought the urge to interlace. “Thanks.” She made her voice light and airy. 

“Oh yeah, sure,” sputtered Hunter, slipping his hand away as he mentally cursed himself for not being able to match her energy. He wasn’t entirely sure what the energy was, but he was not hating it. “T-thank you too.”

“‘Thank me?’ For what?” she chuckled.

“For… being here, I guess,” he said, not sure what he had meant either. He cleared his throat as he tried to compose a better explanation. “It’s nice having you here. Not just now, either. All the time. I’m kind of a big fan of yours.”

“Really?” she asked. She hiccupped, her hand darted to her mouth to cover it in embarrassment. She shook her head, hoping to shake them and continue to appear cool and collected.

Hunter smiled. “Yeah, I mean, you’re amazing,” he said. “T-the songs you pick are amazing. The way you… I mean, it’s all amazing.”

“Aww,” Hiccup. Darn it, why now??? She thought. But she tried to embrace it, hopefully he would think it was cute. 

He did.

“What’s the sweetest drink you got?” She asked, failing to suppress another hiccup. “Cause that should be the one named after you.” She held her glass to her lips and gave him a wink. 

There were many drinks she could name after Hunter.

One night, she had a sore throat which made her singing sound raspy and deeper. It was a nice sound, but by the end of the night she could barely speak. When she got off stage, Hunter had sent Luz with a special mixture of honey and lemon that had her back to normal the next day. She hadn’t told anyone she was sick or asked for a remedy, but he just knew. 

When she had to work on her birthday, he added a sparkler to her drink. She didn’t know how he knew, she must’ve mentioned once in passing long ago, but he remembered. Luz said he had special ordered the sparklers, so it definitely wasn’t a last minute thing. 

Dang it, that would’ve been a great time for the tall drink of water thing, she thought. The alcohol was making her a little spacy and she missed the way Hunter stopped functioning at her sweetness remark. She let out another hiccup, nearly spilling the drink she held to her lips. Hunter snapped out of his trance as he tried in vain to hide his chuckle and Willow pretended to be offended. “Hey!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” he laughed in spite of himself. “It’s not bad I swear it’s really… endearing.”

“‘Endearing?’” she repeated, raising her eyebrow. He didn't want to say ‘cute.’ He thought it was cute, but he didn’t want to say that. She hiccupped again and he couldn't help but offer her a guilty smile and she gave him a faux vicious stare. “Well, they may be endearing to you but they’re getting on my nerves.”

“Here,” he said, reaching down to grab something from the fridge. “Biting on a lemon is supposed to help them go away.” He presented her with a recently cut lemon wedge.

She looked at him skeptically. “You’re joking.”

“No, no I swear,” he insisted. 

“Okay then,” she said, reaching down to grab another lemon from the tray. “I’ll do it if you do.”

He was going to protest, saying he didn’t have the hiccups. But instead, he took the slice from her and allowed their finger to brush once more. “Deal.”

She smiled as they both looked at each other and felt something shift. Willow was insanely competitive, and she heard Hunter was too. Mentally, they decided to enter a match to see who could endure the sour taste the longest. They both brought forth their best poker face as they tried to seem casual about the sharp acidity. They stared at each other with cutthroat intensity as their eyes began to water. 

They surrendered at the same time, each discarding their lemons in a napkin  as they exclaimed their remorse.

“Hey, I think it worked,” laughed Willow, waiting another moment to see if a hiccup would interrupt. When he didn’t she refocused on the tart taste lingering in her lips. “Oof, I guess that’s why I don’t sing ‘Life is just a bowl of lemons.’”

Hunter laughed, debating if he should mention her rendition of the song had been his inspiration for adding extra cherries (he had ordered extra, thinking about her while filling out the order form). 

“I’m sure you could make even that sound lovely,” he said softly.

She giggled, before taking a deep breath and sliding closer to him. “Liiife,” she sang sweetly and quietly, as though wanting to lure him closer. “Is just a bowl of… lemons.”

Hunter hadn’t had a sip of alcohol but he might as well have been drunk. Her voice seemed to surround him in an embrace, pulling and pushing him forward as it guided it toward her peridot eyes. 

“I-I like it,” he said, trying to remember how to breathe normally. He gulped as she prolonged her gaze on him and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll dedicate it to you,” she decided, sucking her teeth as she suddenly felt inspired. “Hey you want a sneak peek at something I’ve been working on?”

“Really?” he said, eyes widened before he caught himself. “I-I mean uh, really?” He tried to downplay his interest, but she could see through him. 

“Yeah,” she said, twirling the end of her hair. “You up for a private concert?”

“You don’t have to,” it hurt him to say, He didn’t want to impose. “I mean, you’re off the clock and I don’t wanna-.”

“Oh hush,” she said, flicking the loose strand of hair in the front of his hair, like she just needed an excuse to be closer to him. “You won’t let me pay you for the drinks, consider it a tip.”

“Okay,” he said, not trying too hard to summon an argument. She clapped her hands in excitement as though she didn’t do this practically every day. 

“The mic’s not on, but with no one in here the acoustics are really great,” she said, hopping off the stool. She took her long skirt in her hand as she ran back to the stage, tapping the microphone as she often did before her sets, though nothing happened. She giggled and ran over to the piano to find her starting note as she prepared to sing acapella.

“Okay, well this one isn’t on the set, so lemme know what you think, okay?” She called as she smoothed her dress. “I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

She took a deep breath and suddenly the alluring sound of her voice flooded the empty room. She knew how to perfectly adjust her pacing to the echoes the emptiness caused. It was haunting and enchanting and Hunter felt as though he could melt into the floor as it swept over him. 

“Some day, when I’m awfully low

When the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you

And the way you look tonight…”

As Hunter stood behind the bar feeling a familiar lightheadedness her voice inspired, he couldn't help but notice she had put her glasses on before she started singing. There was no one else here, but she wanted to make it absolutely certain that she saw him.

Inventory could wait until the morning.

[the-elder-beato]

so I've been going through umineko again for a project i'm working on and it got me thinking about how masterfully the hints and foreshadowing regarding the true culprit and the overall mystery are sprinkled throughout almost every line of dialogue. and like duh it's a mystery story so of course there's gonna be foreshadowing, but it's also hard to strike a good balance with being too obvious that it no longer becomes subtle or being so vague that the reveals feel like they came out of nowhere

looking back on so much of the dialogue even in chapters 1 and 2, so much of it had me practically screaming at myself "how did you miss this the first time through?!" but at the same time, i can totally see how certain details flew over my head given the context the story being told is presented in.

gonna post some specific examples under the cut because one of my good friends is currently reading through it and i don't want to ruin it for him. SPOILERS FOR ALL OF UMINEKO BELOW

a pretty major one that a lot of people bring up is the constant mention of sickly sweet smells coming from kinzo's study as well as the oddly poisonous looking drinks that he partakes in that are bad for his health. this is probably referring both to the odor of kinzo's corpse itself and the preservatives genji and the others are using to prevent it from becoming obvious to the others in the mansion that don't know of his death

but the other things that stuck out to me are the fact that when krauss goes up to his door to do the whole song and dance of pretending that kinzo is in too much of a bad mood to leave his study and see the family during the conferences, he often ends these scenes with a sly smile on his face before handing kinzo off to genji or nanjo, two people who are also responsible for keeping up the charade

This is from one of the earliest scenes in chapter 1 like jesus christ. even ignoring how obvious the "my dad is already dead" line is in hindsight, those coy, knowing smiles he gives are practically screaming that this guy is putting on a show for the other siblings. but on a blind viewing, you could easily wave it off as krauss just having grown tired of trying to make the effort to get his rambling father to come out for like the 3rd family conference in a row and all he can do it laugh it off bitterly

a very similar version of this charade is shown in episode 2 as well, with yet another line with a double meaning that hints to kinzo's real fate. i honestly kind of find it amusing picturing these grown men pounding on the door to their dead father's study, yelling at a volume probably loud enough to reach the rest of the family downstairs to sell the bit even more

these lines also from episode 2 though. holy shit, ryukishi is pretty much giving the answer away here. granted, you can definitely interpret this on a first pass as natsuhi and krauss devising this plan to protect kinzo/their own interests with regards to the inheritance discussion, but the sinister and ominous undertones are there.

speaking of episode 2, it is basically a whole novel's worth of hints towards shannon and kanon's true identities, which makes sense given it's their focus episode alongside episode 6. episode 1 already plants some seeds here and there regarding kanon, what with him somehow always seeming to appear to shannon out of thin air or being described as creeping up on people silently like a cat

one of the biggest hints that most people discuss is how the detective, battler, who is supposed to have an objective view on the proceedings (at least before erika takes over in 5-6) never seems to see shannon and kanon together at the same time when he is present. what keeps up the illusion is the many other scenes sprinkled throughout that take place through other character's POVs where we are shown the two interacting together, particularly with genji and kumasawa. we aren't given any indication this early on that the narration absent of battler isn't to be trusted or is hiding details from us, i don't think until knox's rules are introduced in the answer arcs, so this is a pretty brilliant way of hiding the truth of their characters but without making it feel as if the viewer was completely lied to in hindsight

the fact that jessica is saying this to kanon of all people. oh my god. it's so painful. all of the flashback scenes of shannon and george and jessica and kanon are so sad to watch. sayo is not only struggling with the fact that she's fallen in love with another man while waiting for battler to come back, not only struggling with the realization that she's bisexual when she starts having feelings for jessica, not only struggling with the constant reminders from george that he wants to have many children and grandchildren after she finds out that she will never be able to conceive...

she's now come to a crossroads where (in this world at least) she has to decide whether or not she'll give up hope of battler ever returning and pledge herself to george, while breaking jessica's heart as kanon. and battler coming back after 6 years just throws all of that out the window

this one might just be me overthinking, but i'm curious if anyone else has a similar interpretation. these two batches of dialogue occur in the same scene, the second coming after "kanon" shows up to once again vent out "shannon's" feelings of frustration and anger towards the ushiromiyas. at first it would seem that her lamentation about wanting to be rescued continues directly from the previous string of thoughts, and that she's referring to george again. but the use of quotation marks around "him" the second time around really make me think that this must refer to battler.

the fact that she considers this a sin even moreso feels like it points to battler to me, her sin being the fact that she's still thinking of him in the first place while wanting a relationship with george. she wants to pursue these new feelings with george, but in her mind it would also be weakness on her part to give up on the promise she and battler made together by forgetting about him and moving on. she wants someone on a white horse to come save her, and the thought that this person has changed to being george is tearing her up inside. she doesn't deserve rescue from either of them, in her mind. it's so fucking sad

and the final one for now, since i've only gotten through the first two episodes for this rewatch. i remember thinking back to all the deaths from the previous chapters when faced with the challenge of figuring out who the true culprit was, and just my jaw dropping to the floor when i remembered this detail from turn of the golden witch. none of the other victims of the stakes had them fall out, they were gouged in deeply, but shannon's alone had fallen off to the side.

and of course rosa (the co-conspirator of the episode) conveniently blocks her body off before battler can examine it further and give an objective detective's view of the state of the body. if he was able to, he probably would have been able to see that the hole in shannon's forehead was made by a gunshot wound and not the stake.

not to mention kanon's body just disappearing entirely. episode 2 is where we really start to get introduced to the magic realm and its explanation of events, so it's easy to get sucked into that and go along with the whole "beatrice desecrated him after death by not even allowing him the closure of being a corpse for the rest to discover" but man, it is so crazy how well the pieces fit together once you know the truth. it was simply easier at this stage of the game for sayo to shed the kanon persona entirely so she could move more freely as shannon.

at this point, she had probably given up on battler solving the riddle in this fragment/bottle after his full on mental breakdown in the servant's room following rosa's cold accusations and lack of trust in everyone else. sayo would have planned to die by the end regardless, but this final locked room trick was probably her last ditch effort to give battler a clue as to what was happening, but again this was foiled by rosa barring him from looking closer at the crime scene

anyway that was a lot of rambling about stuff people have probably already discussed to death in the years since umineko's release. but damn i just really, really marvel at ryukishi's ability to write such an intricately written story that simultaneously had me at a loss for the solution for the majority of its runtime while also making me feel like a fucking idiot for missing all of these obvious clues the first time around, in the best kind of way. this sound novel is a masterpiece and i'm so glad i discovered it

rest in peace sayo, i have no doubt the foreshadowing during my replays of banquet and alliance of the golden witch are going to tear my heart asunder once again </3

[polyhexian]

I kinda figure there's gotta be a moment at some point in MH, early in Luz's stay, where she learns about the backstory and she's like. You guys overthrew an Evil Emperor?? Rebellion?? Drama?? Cool action scenes?? Omg why don't I get to be a main character in THAT story?? I WANNA OVERTHROW AN EVIL EMPIRE!!

And every adult in the room is immediately like. NO.

Jtuwhrhrnairitjejtk TRULY

but also like. Luz has just entered this mystical fantasy world and it comes equipped with a magical family excited to just Absorb her into the unit, and she's still mourning her father and jasper is Dad Prime and like. An incredible surrogate. He's a powerless witch who's going to believe in her from the start! He's going to teach her to use a staff! He's a paternal figure who is going to fill all the hurt in her heart with these lofty ideals, the loving parent who wants her to be exactly who she wants to be, as weird as she wants to be, to feel loved and understood and empowered.

But then like. At some point. She's going to find out why so many people hate him so much eventually. She's gonna hear about the exciting story about defeating an evil emperor and she's going to find out exactly who he was and what he has done. He wasn't always the hero of that story. He's not just the innocent victim the emperor tormented who turned against him. Like. He's killed people. A lot of people. He ruined a lot of people's lives. A lot of people who hate him have very good fucking reasons to.

And like. That's the moment that breaks the illusion! This is not the perfect pg-13 fantasy world she dreamed of! Evil empires are not just general generic bad guys. They hurt people. It wasn't all fun heroism. It's a horror story.

And she's going to react like anyone would to this world shaking revelation! Oh god. You did what? YOU did WHAT? Oh god. Horror. Betrayal. You made me care about you when you were This the whole time. youre a monster!

And you know. I mean. Jasper is very self conscious about the opinions of those around him. If he doesn't care about someone he doesn't care what they think. If he does, then he's terrified what they think. And what does a horribly upset jasper do? He runs. That's kind of his thing at this point. He panics and he runs away. Cue absolutely PISSED hunter like why did you DO that oh my god you have no IDEA what you're talking about! And him running off to find alador or Darius or Eda or something hoping he ran off to one of them instead of Wherever The Fuck He Goes and leaving Luz standing like. Alone in the middle of the living room with emotions going absolutely buck wild

[candyskiez]

A vague collection of all of the lines / moments from tma that made me lose my shit, that I can remember, because I just finished it and I am in shambles.

• The fact they didn't just make Jane lonely because people were Mean, the fact she pushed people away and hurt people and couldn't understand that, didn't know how to stop. It would've been so easy to just have her be a sweetheart or have her be evil and the way they did her made her becoming an avatar SO much more interesting

• " I hope you will forgive me for such a rambling story. I hope you will forgive me for a great many things, as it may be I do worse."

• "It is not the patterns that enthral me, I’m not one of those fools chasing fractals; no, it’s what sings behind them. Sings that I am beautiful. Sings that I am a home. That I can be fully consumed by what loves me."

•"Perhaps the itch has always been the real me, and it was the happy, smiling Jane who called herself a witch and drank wine in the park when it was sunny. Maybe it was her who was the maddened illusion that hides the sick squirming reality of what I am"

• "I was lonely before. I know that. I had friends, at least I used to, but I lost them. Or they lost me. Why was it? I remember shouting, recriminations, and I was abandoned. No idea why. The memories are a blur. I do remember that they called me “toxic”. I don’t think I really knew what that meant, except that it was the reason I was so very painfully lonely. Was that it? Was I swayed and drawn simply by the prospect of being genuinely loved? Not loved as you would understand it. A deeper, more primal love. A need as much as a feeling. Love that consumes you in all ways."

• "I will not become another goddamn mystery."

• Martin apologizing for leaving Jon and Tim which hurts so bad in retrospect what do you MEAN

• "Honestly Martin, I'm relieved."

• Tim and Jon's fight. Girl just kill me. I can't even pick out a specific line literally every Tim line from this fight ruins me.

• "If either of you hear this, I'm sorry. You deserve the truth. I wish...I'm not losing anyone else."

• "Oh for God's sake, this isn't about you." "It never is."

• "No, no it’s not “fine”. You’ve been going on and on and on about how alone you feel because John’s not taking your feelings into account while he’s having his breakdown, but you’re just doing the same thing. We’ve all been going through this, Tim, but you’re the only one who’s been running away."

• "Let me tell you a story. You like stories; we can even call it a statement if you want."

• Jon begging them not to think it's him....

• "Well, he was always going to need to fly the nest at some point. Go out and see the world for himself."

• "Statement fucking ends."

• The entirety of guest for mister spider.

• "Who am I even sad for?"

• "My sweet, doomed Agnus."

• "That’s what this place is, Jon, never forget it. You may believe yourself to have friends, to have confidantes, but in the end, all they are is something for you to watch, to know, and ultimately to discard. This, at least, Gertrude understood."

• "Then shoot me. Just squeeze the trigger, and watch the only person you care about die screaming. Your last connection to humanity. Do it."

• "Feels like all I've managed to do is not die." "And believe me, that is a remarkably rare skill."

• "I never chose this." "You never wanted this, no. But I'm afraid you absolutely did choose it."

• "Elias, am I still human?"

• Everytime Jon and georgie interact I start eating my own organs at alarming rates

• "I freaked out a bit, and I said some stuff: if he wanted to talk, no tapes, I just, I just hate that thing."

• "Well, I mean it’s not too late, y’know. Unless the world ends."

• "Turn it off. Turn it OFF."

• "There was never really any hope for me, though, was there? This was how it was always going to go."

•"Disruption. An unpredictable, angry man with nothing left but the desire to feel in some way revenged."

•"Oh, oh, you mean it? Oh well, that’s different. Okay, well, let me tell you what. If you want me to ignore everything that’s going on, forget my brother and everything that’s happened over the last two years, how about you kill me?"

• "Well, me either. But here we are. So my proposal for you is this: either kill me or fuck off."

• "I'll come back when you're feeling more...reasonable." "Then I guess I'll see you in hell."

• "And when something comes for you?" "Then I'll die."

• "Was it peaceful?'' "No." "Good. Don't think she would've wanted that."

• "Dying isn't so bad. It's the staying dead that sucks."

• "I think I finally understand why she brought me back. I just don't understand why she left me behind."

• "I always wanted my friends to call me Gerry."

• "I just want...I just want to feel better."

• "How can I be sure who they are?"

• Literally all of Jon and Tim's second fight. Did you know I'm insane about them.

• 'Part of me thinks it’s just so he can see if whatever this “preparation” he’s been trying to do on me works. You know what? That same petty little part of me rather hopes it doesn’t. That all this time, all his cryptic nudges and “learn to fly by falling��� attitude, ends up being a complete waste of time. Just to show him."

• "I need someone I can trust. And I don't think that can happen naturally for me anymore. So I'm making a decision. I trust them. All of them."

• "When did I start to lose the parts of me that weren't just anger?"

• "Good luck, Jon. I do hope you win. But I also hope it hurts."

• "I used to blame my brother for going off his own and poking around where he wasn’t wanted. I used to blame myself for not helping him. But now… now it doesn’t matter. I’ve read through enough of these things to know that this doesn’t matter. The only thing you need to have your life destroyed by this stuff is just bad luck."

• "I know what it means. They gave it to me because they think I’ll get angry and do something stupid anyway. And they’re probably right. So maybe it’s for the best."

• "Honestly, I hope that Jon learned something from her because, because I don’t expect I’m going to be coming back from this. I don’t know if I want to. And if he needs to pull the trigger, to use me to stop it… well, he’d better have the guts to do it."

• "You owe me one, Gerry. Rest in, uh....just rest."

• "Oh, so that’s it, isn’t it. Martin’s just acting out. I mean, Daisy’s a “rabid dog,” and Melanie’s a potential killer, Tim’s a – a rogue element, but Martin, oh Martin’s just acting out. He’ll have a cry, and a lie down, and feel much better."

• "So what? I don’t get to be angry? I don’t get to burn things? Just, just run around, making tea, while everyone else gets to actually have feelings?"

• "It’s baffling, really. Such loyalty to someone who really treats you very badly."

• "Tim, contrary to what you think, I did not bring you here to indulge your death wish."

• "Really, it’s me! Sasha… whatever-her-name-was! Back from the dead, just like you wanted!"

• "Do you know how many people I killed to keep the world in one piece?"

• "I don’t forgive you. But thank you for this."

• "You think you're saving anyone?!" "I don't care."

• "His only fear is that even here, at the center of the world, barreling towards a lightless, infinite tomb, still, he will be watched. Still, he will watch."

• "You’re doing well, John. I only hope you can continue your growth without my guidance."

• "You’re not quite human enough to die, but still too human to survive."

• "I don’t care if you trust me, but I think I’ve proven at the very least that I’m useful. So use me."

• "We're together, so it's good."

• "Worst case scenario, the universe loses another monster."

• "Oh, I mean, you’re definitely working for something evil, but – so are we."

• "No, it was. I hate a lot of what I did back then; doesn’t mean I’m not responsible for it, doesn’t mean it wasn’t me."

• "The most important thing becomes control, engaging on your own terms. Even when it’s stupid or dangerous. Anything to not feel helpless."

• "Never really knew what she felt ‘bout any of it, not really. Not in her own words. Guess that’s the thing about being the… chosen one."

• "Jumping on a grenade is only heroic if you weren’t the one who actually threw it."

• "The Lonely is possibly the most insidious of the powers, I believe. Certainly it is the one that most delights and having you do its work for it, even the spiders seem to have a hard time matching it for sheer seductiveness. Time to yourself. Self-care. Putting yourself first. Not being a burden on those you care about. Doesn’t even need to tell you any lies – just waits for the lies you tell yourself."

• "…I guess I’m just a bit burned out on the end of the world."

• The entirety of love bombing

• "You'd never known anything different." "Because I never wanted to."

• "But d’you know what the strange thing is? Despite the violence, death, even my own murder, I still don’t feel like she… betrayed me. She was what she was. And I knew that. And even though I told myself that she would never harm me – of course not! I was her husband, her true love – even then, the only one lying was me."

• "The Lonelys really gotten you, hasn't it?" "You know, I think it always did."

• "I'm on my own so much these days, I...just wish I didn't like it so much."

• "How does that make you feel?" "Nothing. Nothing at all."

• "Do you though? Do you really care about any of them? Or is that worrying just simply an old reflex?"

• "I really loved you, you know?"

• "Hello, Jon."

• "It is an awful thing to know about yourself, but the freedom, Jon. The freedom of it all."

• "Don’t worry, John. You’ll get used to it here, in the world that we have made."

• "Something to look back on when we're all old and sick of each other."

• "Can you imagine if we'd had this?"

•"No. You took it too far! I’m unforgettable!"

•" Hold each other, it croons. Be happy. But know always that this happiness is a lie, built on the squirming bones of those whose suffering you have caused."

• "The deception is pitiable, and yet deep down every villager knows the mold has marked them deeper than any of the others, and carries it as their most secret shame."

• "Oh! Such devotion.  You really don’t deserve it. But of course – you know that already!"

• "Yes! Ashamed of the fact that I just – destroyed the world and have been rewarded for it, the fact that – I can walk safe through all this horror I’ve created like a… fucking tourist, destroying whoever I please. The fact that I… enjoyed it, and… the fact that there are so many others that I want to revenge myself on!"

• "Perhaps she’d have dedicated herself to a d,doomed quest like us but – No. I think this would have broken her. And she’d have resigned herself to – ruling her domain."

• "Yes. You are my reason, Martin."

• "The landlord always said he was going to get it fixed."

• "I can feel the pain of every person you have trapped here. My own isn’t all that different."

•" I don’t like me sometimes, and I am me."

• "Why am I alone? I, I shouldn’t be alone; there should be people! It’s such a – such a big house, my house – there mu– there must be other people! People who care!"

• " It’s not my home; it can’t be. Do I have a home?"

• "Did – Did she have a face? D-Don’t – Don’t be stupid, Martin; of course she had a face! You just can’t remember it ‘cause – ‘Cause you’re a bad son; because you left you left her to rot in-"

• "No, and – and I suddenly began to panic, because I was trying to remember what he looked like, his, his face, but I couldn’t do it. And I knew I’d never see him again. He loved me and I couldn’t even remember his face!"

• "It feels like a small name. One that wants to be warm and happy. Not like here."

• "I’m losing myself, and I – and I don’t know if I mind?"

• "Maybe the fogs here because I want it here."

• "It's the lonely, Jon. It's me." "Not anymore." "No. Not anymore."

• "Even if there were mirrors in this place, Reese could not possibly recognize himself. Not because anything that might once have registered as a human body has long since blossomed into sinewy flowers and muscles and burst skin, but because – were he to see himself, the only image in his mind would be the him he was so afraid to be"

• "She is beautiful. And she cannot allow herself to lose that at any cost. She cannot shatter into fleshy ugliness again."

• "I can’t. There’s too many. I can’t save everyone. I can’t save anyone."

• "Jon – we are doing good, right? Making things better?" "I don't know if that was ever an option."

• “I don’t want that anymore. It’s different now; I’m different now. I’ve worked so hard.”

• "But a waltz has a partner. FRANCIS only has a desire, an itch in their bones that flows into them, drip by oily drip, down the glistening strands that suspend them, guide them, hold them. A desire which injects itself through razor-sharp hooks and pools inside their stomach. They don’t want to want it, but…"

• "Tears flow, too, but no one notices, and no one cares. Their punishment is at hand."

• "Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree with you there. That’s not your name at all."

• "I’m here to help you, to treat you, to make it so you’re less of a… burden to everyone. "

• "You’re the biggest victim of… whatever little game you’re playing here. And we know just how to help you."

• Literally all of the commentary around Daisy.

• "Then we should make time. You want to hear how he ended up blinding that man? Because it wasn’t a robbery. He was running away from Daisy, lashing out in a panic. The court believed it. But you believed her…"

• "He could refuse, a final petty act of rebellion against a system it feels like he has run through a hundred times. But what would be the point of that? It won’t save him. A wasted pile of discarded tissue is all that would be left. Is it not better, at least, to be useful?"

• "You knew her. She was trying to be better." "She was. But she never asked me to forgive her.'

• "I’ve been scared, terrified for my life so many times these last few years. But I’ve never, not once, felt so horribly, abjectly, powerless as when she took me into that forest to kill me. I’ll never forget it."

• "And would you have forgiven her?" "No. But she never asked me. She knew she had no right."

• "No-one gets what they deserve. Not in this place. They just get whatever hurts them the most. Even me."

•" I don’t know, alright! I was… I was worried that if you listened, it might feel like an accusation. After everything we’ve already talked about, I-I mean… What good would it do for you to hear? What’s in this one that you don’t already know? “People have their reasons for doing wrong?” “The system hurts everyone?” Just seemed kind of pointless."

• "For what it’s worth… I’m sorry it had to work out like this." "I'm not."

• "Besides, those are the tombs with the longest epitaphs, so they must have been good people."

• Literally everything in locked in

• "She was awful." "She wasn't well." "Both things can be true."

• "They can all hear him now. Any words he speaks will ring out through the chamber. He wants to talk of the people outside, the bruised and abandoned ones that suffer and die to slake their appetites. He wants to cry for restitution, for justice, for a future, for anything. But all eyes are on him and he falters. He remembers the cold, the hunger, the ache of concrete beneath him. He is afraid. And his chair is so very comfortable. The minister coughs, once, uncomfortably, and sits down."

• "But don’t get me wrong… Georgie’s incredible. Um, and she’s, and she’s far, far too good for me. And I, I only hope she doesn’t realise that while there’s an apocalypse on."

• The entire bit of Rosie. I need to explode. I can't believe they got me so attached and so devastated over a character who had barely been mentioned before.

• "The point is you don’t have a responsibility to sacrifice yourself just to make everyone else’s lives a bit easier." "I've already made them a hell of a lot harder!"

• "I don't want to die." "Neither did they."

• "Are you sure about this?" "No. But I love you."

I am in physical pain .

[endversewinchester]

What do you make of the tellalegend scene? I loved it but saw some posts on how it could be dub/non con so now I'm not so sure anymore.

Hi anon! Let me start this by saying it was 100% consensual, as stated by Tella at the end of the book. I'm sorry people tried to ruin that for you. But since you have that doubt allow me to explain what I think Stephanie went for there in literary terms.

Spoilers for the entire Spectacular book under the cut!

So doing a small recap if you stumbled here unaware of any drama, Spectacular is by far Stephanie's spiciest book. In it, Tella gets kidnapped, bound, gagged and blindfolded (all of which are perfectly normal, canon compliant things in this universe) and given to Legend as a gift. They get intimate (he touches her parts at some point) and at the end of the book he gives her the letter she sent asking to be kidnapped AND Tella tells him she realized it was him before they had any physical contact, thus making the entire thing 100% consensual.

I know what you're thinking. "but Cami, If it's consensual how come Tella is sending all these mixed messages throughout the scene?"

I'm so glad you asked! She's not.

See, we all informally say Caraval is from Scarlett's and Tella's POV, but it is not. Caraval is actually written in the third person, with an omniscient narrator.

An ‘all-knowing’ kind of narrator very commonly found in works of fiction written as third-person narratives. The omniscient narrator has a full knowledge of the story's events and of the motives and unspoken thoughts of the various characters. He or she will also be capable of describing events happening simultaneously in different places—a capacity not normally available to the limited point of view of first-person narratives.

Now, just because the narrator knows everything doesn't mean he will tell you everything. Stephanie very specifically uses this tool in ALL her books to omit information from the reader. It is how she creates that illusion atmosphere we all love from Caraval, and she repeats that here in Spectacular.

While Tella knew it was Legend all along, the narrator chose to keep that information from us to build up suspense.

Now, that's a very tricky thing to do when the topic is romance and intimate relations because people can misinterpret what is happening. To discuss whether she should have or shouldn’t is very valid, but that’s not our topic here today. Regardless, she is aware of this. So what did Stephanie do to soften that gap?

She hints at it. First with the illustrations, in which you as the reader can clearly tell Legend is the one who kidnapped her, but also through text. Phrases like:

"A low laugh moved through the chamber, cool and dark, and Tella immediately recognized the intoxicating sound of it."

"Every inch of her tingled from the magic, dark dangerous magic that felt like candlelight dancing over her skin, ready to singe her if it lingered too long."

"If the Legendary Master of Caraval had kidnapped her, then she knew exactly what he would want. “You want to play a game?” “If you win, I’ll remove the blindfold.""

"Her fingers could feel the soft hair at the nape of his neck. She thought it felt like Legend. He kissed like Legend."

So there you go, anon. That's what's happening here. That's why the book is written a certain way. But don't worry, what happened between them there was 100% consensual. And Legend himself was very much worried about mantaining it as such. So much so that when Tella jokes she didn't know it was him he freezes with fear.

“When did you figure it out?” Legend asked later.

“Well”—Tella half shrugged against him—“that letter of mine in the box sort of gave it away.” Legend stiffened beneath her.

She laughed and reached up to cup his cheek. “Who knew that the famous Master Legend was so gullible?” Tella pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I knew it was you all along.”

Enjoy our blorbos and don't worry about bad internet takes ~

[alessiathepirate]

Now You See Me 2

MIDNIGHT ON THE THAMES: Dylan Rhodes/Shrike x fem!reader

Summary: The reveal happens at the stroke of midnight, in the middle of the Thames, on New Year's Eve - and she couldn't be happier. Or maybe she could, because Lula and Jack won't be the only ones kissing that night.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I made while I wrote this short story.

This man is so underrated, it's a crime. He deserves some love - please love him.

Warnings: a bit of swearing, but nothing more

•••

No matter how many successful reveals they pull off, she still feels the same amount of excitement, happiness and slight nervousness at the end of every trick and show.

Yet, the strongest feeling out of all of them was the happiness. The happiness because everything turned out just fine in the end, because this tiring performance is close to being over and mostly because her friends are also smiling with honest, wide grins and letting out excited chuckles.

This one though, this one wasn't easy to pull off. It was possibly the hardest show they had to put together with the trouble and issues they had to overcome. It was tiring, stressful, but also kind of fun and thrilling.

After this they'll sleep through a day if not two, she smiled at the thought as she let go of Lula, who was the last to end the group hug.

As Walter, Tressler and Chase slowly, reluctantly left the plane, stepping into the light, not understanding what is happening around them; the last act was about to start -- and this, this will be her favourite.

Those three absolutely ruined her whole week, made her almost choke on tears and worry and made her hate their whole existence and the fact that if they wanted to fool them, they had to let them believe they won was hard to swallow. Now they will get those smirks off of their faces and make them realize how easy it was to fool them. They were greedy and arogant and now they are losers -- nothing more.

God, how much they had to go through to reveal their real faces to the world.

"No, no, you should feel pretty good about yourself man. You predicted it correctly." Atlas started to tease the three of them for her pleasure, as they looked around with nothing but pure shock on their faces. "The Thames, stroke of midnight. New Year's Eve. Happy New Year!"

The people, the hundreds of curious fans who decided to come and see the final act shouted in happiness and excitement. Before these people tonight, there'll be nothing they'll be able to hide. That thought alone made her smile wider.

"We would like to acknowledge not just our old friend, Arthur Tressler, but his young and brilliant son, Walter Mabry!" Daniel continued. "Who has performed one of the greatest feats of illusion even we have ever seen. He has, amazingly, brought himself back from the death!"

The audience roared again, but this time the happy laughter wasn't the thing what made her heartbeat unevenly fast. It was the presence of the person who could both calm her down and make her uneasy with butterflies. Dylan's hand landed on her arm, squeezing it gently, lovingly, making her mind into a mush and her tounge forgot how to function to speak - and it's soon her turn to say something. She didn't know what that meant, but it was a sign of something - something soft like a silent 'thank you' or 'congratulations'. Even if it was slightly confusing, it felt nice. Too nice.

"But before he did that, he revealed someone. And we think it only right to give him a proper introduction. He is our friend and he is our leader, Dylan Shrike!"

His hand slowly left her as he turned towards their audience and began to speak.

"So normally only the magician, his assistant, and a few trusted stage hands know the secret of a trick..."

His voice faded away as she looked at him, quietly admiring him from afar, letting him enjoy his place in the spotlight. Her mind was full of memories. Memories of him, memories of today. The day she thought she'll actually choke on stress and worry.

God, how thankful she is that he's okay. That he's alive and up here with them, not down there in the water.

They were close, so close she felt comfortable in his presence. He was a person she could trust with anything, a person who didn't tease her like Merritt or Danny did sometimes. They were play fights, she knew that, but still there was something special between her and Dylan, a different kind of honesty.

And knowing that he could die from the digusting 'magic trick' those three tried to pull off with him made her cry. Like actually cry, many tears with a dry and quiet voice.

After he climbed out of that damned safe, she followed him around like puppy, sitting next to him on the stairs as they discussed what to do next. She sat next to him, not daring to hug him, but craving it -- yet instead she just let their knees touch slightly. It was enough to give her some energy and acknowledge that now they are going to war.

A slight nudge made her let go of those memories, getting back to reality, to a moment she should enjoy. Jack was the one talking now, explaining the secret behind 'Find the Lady' and this time Merritt was the one standing next to her.

"Don't daydream yet, lover girl. We still got a show to run." he patted her back and then walked away with a knowing a smirk.

Damn mentalist, she thought just as Lula began to explain the secret behind the airplane. He knows everything he can use to tease people with.

"Basically, we showed them everything." she finally spoke up herself, still laughing a little as she watched how Merritt teased his brother, finally getting the upper hand. "The switch, the plane, the manipulation... Yet they were still too blind to see." she turned towards Walter, a smirk forming on her face. "And you kidnapped us to steal the very thing that is in your pocket."

Walter was about to reach into his coat's pocket, to see if their homemade special card is really there; but Atlas was quicker.

"Whoops!" he said as the card appeared in his hand, seemingly out of nowhere. "You know, this thing here, which you said you could use to adjust markets, manipulate goverments, and spy on whomever you choose."

"Also, you could, as you said, control the public from outside the grid." she continued as the public groaned in frustration, realizing what their words really meant.

That reaction filled her heart up with pride.

"These men destroy people's lives. Spying on the world, robbing you of your right to privacy." It was weird, how well she recognized Dylan's voice and how well her heart did as well - as it was beating faster. Their eyes met and even if he was speaking the harsh truth, his gaze was still soft. It was always soft with her. "And they do that by hiding in the dark. So in true Horsemen tradition, we are here to expose them."

"Tonight, they, like all of us, are finally stepping into the light." she was grinning as the people reacted, shouting, screaming happily, because the truth was finally out. "Thank you everybody!"

"We are the Horsemen and we will be back very soon!"

And the moment came - when the show ends, the tiredness appears. Her chest was heavy with pride and happiness, justice found those three men who ruined their lives for days without stopping. Now they got what they deserve.

And then the coundown began. The audience shouted, like if the wait until New Year was part of the show... They shouted as the sirens were turned on, meaning the FBI was on its way. It was time to leave -- and then finally rest.

And then she felt it, the push - the literal, physical push she knew she needed, which got her closer to Dylan, almost bumping into him. She didn't know who it was, although she could bet her right arm on one of her friends -- but it didn't really matter. Thoughts didn't really matter. She was there, close to him, their eyes met.

It was their moment.

"So fun's over, huh?" she tried to joke, but her throat was dry and she could feel that her cheeks were pink for sure.

And then it happened - the need in her was satisfied, they touched the other. That kind of closeness was new and intoxicating, but not at all uncomfortable. It was something what both of them longed for since forever - and now here they were.

Their lips touched. It was a quick and short kiss, but it was a very meaningful one. She felt it. She felt it in how warm his lips were, how he touched her cheeks and how he was slightly shaking just like her, because what they wanted finally happened. It was soft, but it was full of passion. All the unsaid feelings were pushed into that one, simple kiss.

"I love you." his words were simple, they were nothing special, but they still made her insides warm.

"Hey, we are on the clock here!"

Damn the clock!

They had to run, sure. But even that couldn't wash the lovesick smile off her face. It couldn't, because Dylan Shrike loved her. He said it himself and she knew it was true.

Dylan grabbed her arm, he held onto her firmly as they started to run - just in time, because the boats arrived and agents started to get out of them, running towards them.

"I love you too." she said as they hurried away. "I think I've loved you since you interrogated me."

"Ever since then, huh?" he chuckled.

"What can I say? I think it was the suit. You look really good in suits."

They both laughed even if they were a little bit out of breath.

Dylan suddenly stopped and so did she. She took a deep breath as she looked at the water of the Thames, which was only a few meters away. People shouted behind them, possibly the agents who were sent here, only to fail their mission once again. They never really learn.

He turned towards her and touched her cheeks once again, his thumbs drawing shapes gently into her skin.

"I need you to go, okay? I'll be right behind you, but there's one more thing I have to do."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek and then she looked up at him with a shy smile.

"I'll see you soon."

And just like that she was gone. Gone, disappeared into the night like the magician she is, making a fool out of the FBI once again.

Dylan stayed there, waiting for an agent to turn up so he can finish what he started and give them the proof they need against Tressler and his son. He stayed there as the shouts came closer. He stayed there and looked after his lover, knowing that he'll adore the moments he'll spend with her once they finally get to a safe place where they can finally rest.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hi, Clan! I had this Steven (Strangled Red) one-shot idea a few days ago, but I held back on asking mostly because it felt too stupidly self-indulgent. I still feel a bit like it is, so… I hope you don't mind it too badly! ^^' Essentially, Y/N, who has Gardevoir and Scrafty, hears rumors about a supposedly haunted house in Pallet Town, Kanto, and gives a shot at trying to explore it… only to eventually come across a fallen Champion, with Y/N and their Pokémon having to fight back. (admittedly inspired by one of the Strangled Red chronological sequels)

"Oh? The house in the field? Yeah, there's rumors that a previous Champion's ghost is haunting it, but...you didn't hear that from me."

"Okay. You hear that, guys? We didn't hear that from them." You smiled at Gardevoir and Scrafty--your two most loyal Pokémon, who nodded along as you talked to one of the locals.

Rumor has it there was a "haunted house" in Pallet Town, located on the west side beyond a field of unusually tall grass. A stone barrier had been put up about a decade ago to deter anyone from venturing further, leaving many to speculate what was inside that decrepit house.

The oldest residents would tell you that it used to be the home of a Kanto champion until tragedy befell him and he became "cursed", but they claim it's totally abandoned now.

They didn't sound so sure, though, so you wanted to find out for yourself if it's true. You also had a knack for exploring mysterious places--especially if it involved Pokémon who dwelled in ancient ruins and such.

You wouldn't call a former champion's house "ancient", but maybe some powerful ghost or dark types made their home there!

In any case, Gardevoir and Scrafty could counter their attacks easily should you get into any danger.

So you decided to journey over to the west side, where the barrier lied. It was a stone wall covered in moss and cracks. Nothing too remarkable. It was high, but not too high that you couldn't fly over it on a Pokémon, so it made you wonder why people were afraid to see what's beyond it...

There was no one around guarding it, except for a lone wild Gastly whose trill alerted you to its presence.

As it hovered in front of you, your Pokémon took protective stances...and yet it seemed quite passive. Not looking for a fight at all.

"Um, hi?" You tilted your head in confusion, before you saw it float over the wall and disappear on the other side. "....okay, that's just showing off."

Huffing, you turned around in preparation to call out one of your flying-types. But then you felt Scrafty tug on your sleeve, pointing to the wall. "Scraf! Raf!!"

"What's up? Is the Gastly.....huh?"

Upon facing the barrier once more, you were astonished to see that...it was gone.

As if there was nothing there to begin with.

In between the tall patches of grass was the Gastly grinning at you, amused by your baffled expression.

When you stepped closer, there was indeed no barrier blocking the way anymore. Yet nobody in town seemed to notice such an oddity.

'Huh..maybe someone brought a Zoroark to cast this illusion.' You mused. 'But then again...how could they keep it up for so long? And why did they think it was necessary?'

Regardless, you were finally in the "forbidden zone" of Pallet Town, and the Gastly seemed to know exactly where you wanted to go. And thus, the three of you followed it, excited yet nervous as to what you'll discover.

There were no wild Pokémon lurking in the grass, strangely enough. It was completely deserted, but you paid no mind to that.

Soon enough you were in front of the old house. It looked just like all the other ones in town--a simple two story home. Considering it was unlocked, maybe the rumors of it being abandoned were true, though you knocked out of courtesy.

Nobody answered, so you headed inside, although you jumped as the door suddenly slammed shut behind you and left you in nearly total darkness.

'Goddamnit..stupid wind..' You huffed in annoyance, deciding to blame mother nature for that scare.

With Gardevoir generating a small sphere of light to guide the path, you were well on your way to investigating the old home of this "champion". You didn't even think there was one before Red or Blue--just the Elite Four.

Then again, you didn't know the whole story..so maybe this place will give you some clues. You wanted to know more about this forgotten trainer's legacy and what happened to him.

Together you searched high and low, while also trying not to move too many things around out of respect for the original owner. But you did learn some interesting and..concerning things:

For one, the upstairs bedroom held a portrait of two brothers above one of the beds: one kid who looked like Red, except he had hair that was much longer and he wore a proud smile, and a brunette with short and spiky hair donning a violet cap beside him.

You took it off the wall, looking at the picture before turning it over to see it was taken in 19....something, considering the last two digits were smudged. But the tagline on it was clearer:

Steven and Mike: The First Champions of Kanto

'So this was their home, huh? But..the locals never told me about a brother-'

Suddenly there was a rather loud creak, and Gardevoir swiftly turned her light source towards the open doorway, tensing up. Scrafty looked equally as suspicious, glaring at the darkness with raised fists.

But nothing was there at all.

"It's okay, guys." You calmly reassured them, smiling as you hung the picture back up on the wall. "Probably just a ghost-type playing tricks on us."

"Hrg..Scraf...." The dark/fighting type grumbled, but otherwise listened to you as they both calmed down.

Resuming your search, you noticed that another smaller picture sat on the nightstand, so you picked it up to examine it.

This one featured a Charizard proudly holding up a ribbon, and in the corner of the photo was a simple caption: "My Beautiful Miki" -Steven

'So this must be his ace..' you smiled fondly, seeing that Steven must've had a special connection with this Charizard to give her a name.

However, as you set the photo down, you felt an overwhelming chill run down your spine. Not one that made you feel cold, but rather the kind that told you..

"You're not alone."

Then you all heard a raspy male voice groaning from the shadows. It didn't sound like any sort of Pokémon.

But human.

Confused, Gardevoir pushed the glowing orb further out of the room. But it didn't reveal anybody in sight. Even Scrafty peeked out into the hallway, yet they didn't see anyone lingering out there. You checked the closet, only to find it completely empty.

With an annoyed huff, you closed it, deciding to leave the room and search the upper floor for the source--to no avail.

Either this person was a prankster or a legit ghost...but regardless, you didn't like the way this was heading.

This was how horror movies usually started.

"Alright." You called out. "Whoever you are, please stop. We'll leave quietly."

The voice made an unexpected demand, although he spoke slowly as if to stress the importance of each word:

"Give...her...back..."

He sounded further away this time, coming from downstairs. So that's exactly where the three of you headed, with Gardevoir bravely leading the way and Scrafty sticking behind you.

But even as you entered the living room area, you still didn't see a single soul.

This was weird.

Very, very weird..

"I want her back.."

"We didn't take anyone from you, I promise!" You tried to reason with the mysterious voice as you approached the front door. "Gardevoir, turn the brightness up to maximum, please."

Nodding, she illuminated the entire room with an even stronger glow, bathing it in light.

Yet it revealed nothing.

But Scrafty swore they saw a black mass retreating into the shadows. Their heart began racing as they stuck closer to you.

"Listen, if you mean Gardevoir..she's mine-"

"No. Not her...but my Miki."

"...I'm sorry?"

"GIVE ME BACK MY MIKI!"

Freezing, you blinked in bewilderment as the voice screamed that name, your eyes widening with great alarm. 'That's..Steven's Charizard, isn't it?'

"L-Listen, there's been a misunderstanding. So we're just gonna...!" But when you tried leaving this place for good..

The door suddenly refused to open.

"Huh?" Taking your hand off the knob, you wondered why it wasn't turning. It seemed stuck, almost. Scrafty tried their hand at it, even using Brick Break in an attempt to punch through the old door.

Surely it would've knocked it down or at least put a hole in it...

Yet it remained sturdy.

"What the hell?!" You whispered in disbelief, although you tensed upon hearing footsteps and turned around..

And he emerged from the darkness.

The fallen champion..Steven himself.

But he looked a lot worse than he did in those photos, with his black hair now being a long, wild and untangled mess; a dark shadow was cast over his sorrowful face, yet it held such rage and anguish. All you could see were his seemingly glowing red eyes, and a single pokeball in his shaking hand.

'Was he...living here this whole time? All alone?'

"Steven..?"

For a moment, he blinked and lifted his head to stare at you, as if he recognized that name. But then his expression shifted into a malicious grin, pearly-white teeth spreading from ear to ear. "My Miki...I want her back. GIVE HER BACK!!" He snarled, throwing his pokeball out in front of him.

And while it did struggle for a moment, eventually the Pokémon encased inside revealed itself to be something....quite horrific and tragic:

A Charizard who looked very much undead, with a wound resembling a noose or cable around her neck. The muscles were still visible, bleeding as though it never healed at all.

Her roar was strained, showing that she was in a great deal of agony, especially as she coughed blood all over the floor. But she seemed ready to attack you if her trainer commanded her to, so you gulped nervously and stood your ground.

There's nowhere for you to run, but surely...two Pokémon against one shouldn't be a problem, right?

Unfortunately, you'll come to find out how wrong you were...

"Gardevoir, use Fairy Wind!" You ordered.

"......."

"...Gardevoir?" Worried, you looked to the Embrace Pokémon, your heart breaking upon seeing the tears in her eyes as she stared at Miki. Her hands shook in a feeble attempt to generate some Fairy Wind.

But it failed. She gave up completely, appearing far too distraught at the sight as she refused to fight or even move.

Even Scrafty, who usually had nerves of steel, seemed extremely uncomfortable with fighting Miki at all. They opted to stay closer to you for safety.

What could you do, though?

There had to be some way to protect yourself-

'Wait..that's it!' You suddenly remembered, looking down at Scrafty. "Scraft, try shielding us with Protect!"

However, they seemed just as paralyzed with fear, though after you insisted once again..they mustered up the courage to use Protect. It formed a magic barrier in front of all three of you.

Now it was Steven's turn to make his move.

And he pointed a single finger at Gardevoir, his demonic grin never wavering for a moment as he whispered a single command:

"Strangle."

Immediately, Miki lunged forth with a horrific shriek, tearing through Protect with no issues before she tackled Gardevoir to the ground. With her pinned down, the grotesque Charizard wrapped her clawed hands around her throat and squeezed.

You stood there in horror, unable to believe what you were seeing. 'What is THAT move?! I've heard of Constrict but...nothing like this!!"

Gardevoir gasped, trying to free herself, but she could feel the rotten claws of the undead fire-type digging into her neck, blood oozing down as she was rapidly losing air. She struggled to pry them off of her, though to no avail..

It's like all of her psychic energy was sapped away.

Likewise, Miki seemed to be struggling for oxygen herself, seeing as her wheezing grew more persistent. You noticed the exposed muscles in her throat contracting and gushing blood with every breath.

'I gotta hit her where it hurts the most.' You looked at Scrafty, who continued to stare at the scene in fear.

"Scrafty, help Gardevoir and use Throat Chop on that Charizard!"

"...s-scraf..." Tears filled their eyes as they shook their head, forcing themselves to look away from the two. They felt so helpless, yet so scared as to what to do.

How could you trust them to use Throat Chop if Protect proved to be a failure?

"Please." You begged them, your voice trembling with anxiety. "I-I know you're scared, but...but Gar's gonna die if we don't do something!! We can overcome this together. We can't let him win! Please...at least try Throat Chop! If she looks at you, just close your eyes."

Finally, Scrafty looked up at you, and then at their struggling partner as she stared back at them with pleading eyes. She was quickly losing her will to fight back.

You were right.

No matter how scared either of them are, it can't end like this.

Huffing, they pulled their skin up. "Scraf..! SCRAFTY!!" With a shout, they charged at Miki, their fist glowing with dark energy. She made the mistake of turning her head and leaving her wounded neck completely exposed.

As commanded, they squeezed their eyes shut and swung blindly--

Successfully landing a Throat Chop on her.

She tried to shriek in pain, but no sound came out. Instead, she was forced to let Gardevoir go, staggering backwards as she wheezed and gagged. Her own claws became stained with her blood as she eventually collapsed to the ground, gagging and sputtering .

Immediately Steven ran past you, while Gardevoir teleported to your side, struggling to catch her breath. As she kneeled to the floor and Scrafty comforted her, you looked on to see the fallen champion's evil expression change to one of anguish.

He fell to his knees, holding Miki's head. "N-No..Miki. It's okay, girl..it's okay..."

For once, he was acting like a completely normal trainer who was worried for his precious Pokémon.

But now you knew the truth:

This guy was a champion whose ace, this Charizard, died tragically...only to brought back as a monster. Something she didn't ask to become. And it drove him mad enough to attempt actual murder on your Pokémon, hoping to give them a death similar to hers.

You didn't know how he did it, but you didn't care anymore.

You considered this battle won and refused to stick around long enough for a rematch. So you recalled your Pokémon and sprinted out of the room, finding a backdoor in the kitchen area.

Thankfully, you were able to escape that house of horrors. But even as you ran all the way out into the tall grass and hid behind the nearest tree...Steven never chased after you; nor did you hear the haunting cries of Miki.

The Gastly who guided you here eventually found you, and you could only stare at it in distraught, still trying to make sense of what happened in that place.

"D-Did...Did you know about him?" You stammered. "Was that really Steven...?"

It didn't have any answers for you, instead quietly taking you back into town, where the stone wall suddenly remanifested itself. You paid no mind to that and just rushed to the Pokémon Center, desperate to heal your companions.

Minutes later, the nurse called you back and informed you that while they were both okay...

They couldn't help but notice the bruises wrung around your Gardevoir's neck.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Vast!Jon AU and Archivist!Sasha snippet

Sasha is about to take a statement about Mister Spider.

Sasha has only been Archivist for a couple of years. She thinks she's just getting an interesting story.

Sasha does not know what's about to happen.

(AKA: And YOU get some trauma and YOU get some trauma!)

---------------

“Statement of Jonathan Sims, regarding the creation of the photograph most commonly called the ‘spider leg illusion,’ taken… when?”

“Oh, uh - July 15th, 1995.”

“Statement taken direct from subject, February 6th, 2016. Now, Jon - I know it’s been a while, but I’d really appreciate it if you’d tell me what happened on that day.”

Jon was going to tell her the official story.

After all, everyone knew it - it was part of his biography. 

It’s why he started taking photographs.

He’d been eight years old. A local bully had been murdered in front of him - some drug deal gone wrong, they said. And needing to make sense of it, needing to find a lens through which he could feel more in control, little Jon had stolen his grandmother’s 35mm camera, went back to the crime scene, and taken forty-six photos. 

Each roll of film could take twenty-four shots. He’d had to replace the roll, somehow figuring out how to do it without exposing or ruining anything.

Why not a full forty-eight? the police had asked him later, because he’d left two shots untaken. 

Because I was done, and didn’t want to be wasteful, he’d told them with grave solemnity, and between that bit of unintentional cuteness and the evidence he accidentally collected, he made the papers.

The photos - which his grandmother had developed out of raw curiosity - led to the arrest of three people, drug dealers, who went down for the murder of Darren Case, the bully.

But that wasn’t actually how it happened.

At all.

Jon opens his mouth to tell the lie.

And what comes out is not.

#

Eight years old.

A book.

A spooky, weird book.

Mister Spider, and some kind of mind control, and bruising (every day, bruising, but that was just life until Martin stepped in), and then his bully being mind-controlled, and those legs coming out of the house to take the bully away, and -

And Jon returning to the house, finding it again because he needed to see, and the door opening, and the legs coming out, the legs coming out, the legs coming out -

Almost as if showing off for him, or just saying hi, or taunting him because it could have eaten him and didn’t, or - 

One picture came out with those legs, just one, even though he’d taken forty-six, and it is the clearest one, absolutely crystal, with a clarity that seemed to go beyond what his grandmother’s camera could do, but that makes sense to Jon because that is what he saw.

Jon has always been able to photograph what he saw.

And nobody took that spider-leg thing seriously because what the fuck, because the important photos were the ones with drug-dealer faces in the windows and going in and out of the house and hiding Darren's body, and it’s not like photo manipulation of some kind hadn’t existed in the 90s, but Jon had no access to it, so it was a fluke, or double-exposure, or something weird.

Jon had insisted the spider photo was real for two months until he gave up trying to make anyone believe him.

His grandmother kept it.

And it had burned in the house fire that took his grandmother away.

He thought.

Somehow, apparently… it hadn’t.

#

And Jon is gasping, and Jon is crying, and Jon has relived this terrible moment as if he were there all over again.

He hadn’t had time to make the connection, but now, he has: You have been marked by the Web, said Elias Bouchard, who’d asked him for the story and did not get it, because Jon did not want to talk about it, but Jon couldn't do that with Sasha, no he could not, and now that it's all over, he cries out and covers his face.

Sasha can’t - 

She hasn’t ever - 

She has no words for what just happened.

She was there.

Lived it as young Jon Sims, feels bruised where the bully pushed her, feel damaged where she saw the spider-legs and has no explanation, feels betrayed as she is not believed even though she knows what she saw and has to deny it and has to hide it and has to force herself to pretend it wasn’t real -

Himself. Not herself. This was Jon’s actual experience, not hers.

Sasha is panting.

“What…” she says, weak.

“I… I don’t…” Jon says, weak. “What did you do?”

Sasha looks terrified. “I don’t know.”

He swallows. “Eye stuff. It’s got to be.”

“What?” she says, completely lost.

Jon is suddenly angry for her.

Elias hasn’t told her anything, and this is Martin’s friend. 

She’s nice. 

She believes him.

Wait. “You believe me?”

“Of course I do,” she says.

He’s very angry for her. 

Jon is leaning in, too close, like he has no sense of personal space. “Sasha. Do you know what Elias is?”

She stares at him.

“What this place is?” he says, and now, he can see.

She is marked, too.

Marked by the Eye.

He can see it as clear as day, beautiful, like a gentle staining of her veins, all the way through and so intricate and so intimate it could never be removed.

“Wow,” he whispers, reaching for his camera.

Sasha grips the table suddenly as though she thinks she’s going to fall. “Why are there stars in your eyes?”

Jon breaks eye-contact.

Sasha sways in her seat. She’s breathing fast, and her eyes are very wide.

"You," she manages, and sways in her seat again like the room is spinning.

He sees it.

Sees another mark, patterning alongside the Eye, not nearly as deeply, but very much there, and he knows he did that.

He just did it right now, completely by accident, sending her soul into the sky or however this works, and before he can melt down in horror, a rush of warm, pleased energy comes flushing through him, unplanned.

He inhales, for just one second utterly blissed out, unable to parse what he’s feeling.

By some great stroke of luck, she didn’t see him react to that. “Could you - I don’t mean to be rude, but could you leave?” says Sasha. “I need a minute. I’ll catch up with you, I promise, I’m not trying to be a bitch, I….”

He’s hurt her.

Shame comes rushing right in after that weird pleasure. “Oh, no,” he whispers. “Sasha, I’m - ”

“Do I really need to ask you again?” she snaps, shaking.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, and then he flees.